


Wagons Behitched

by elle_nic



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006), The Proposal (2009)
Genre: And like, Angst, F/F, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Sharing a Bed, but soft angst, fiction&femslashevent, here's another au, its following the proposal for the most part but some things are different, lmao im really cutting down on the awkwardness from the proposal, naturally, replacing it with angst, so i saw the proposal for the first time last week, so like, this idea had been tossing around in my head since
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20575250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_nic/pseuds/elle_nic
Summary: "But until then, like it or not, your wagon is hitched to mine."- Margaret Tate, played by Sandra Bullock, 'The Proposal' (2009).There's pining, a little angst and a lot of lying between Miranda and Andy, and the Sachses, and though Miranda has forgotten how to be part of a family, Andy might just remind her.





	1. Time Will Tell

**Author's Note:**

> I come with gifts! I'm really enjoying writing this at the moment so I hope y'all like reading it... Let me know how you like it :)))
> 
> Also, it's not beta'd so mistakes are mine.

.oOo. CHAPTER ONE .oOo.

Her alarm clock had died last week too, though it was in the afternoon. Andy thought nothing of it then, only making a note to buy another cheap digital clock with an alarm setting and then promptly forgetting to follow up. It’s why she woke at 7:27am instead of six. It’s why her hair was thrown into a messily done chignon, and why her makeup was lighter than usual. It was why she hadn’t beat the morning rush at Starbucks (thank god for Jane or Jen or whatever her name was that had her order ready for her) and why she was off like a shot out of the elevator on the 17th floor.

“Damn me from last week,” she said, trying and failing to get the large brown stain out of her cream silk blouse. If she had just replaced the clock when it messed up last week she wouldn’t have bumped into the idiot delivery man there for _Auto Universe_, spilling about three-quarters of searing hot coffee all over her. The sting of embarrassment hurt more than the sting of the beverage.

“Psst, Mabel, go get me another shirt from the Closet,” she hissed. Miranda wasn’t there yet but something about being in the inner offices made her less willing to shout. Pavlov’s dog but in reverse? Andy shook the ridiculous thought away. Mabel, a newer member of the styling department there to drop off some headshots, shook her head.

“What? No way, if she-“

“I will give you an extra hour for every run through you need to do in the next month if you would just _scram_,” Andy stressed. “You have five seconds, or I schedule you at the earliest time possible for the rest of time.” Mabel only thought about it for two of the five seconds before nodding and hurrying off, running back in time for Andy to get a text from Roy saying they were pulling up. She went to the floor wide (minus the EIC, for obvious reasons) groupchat and typed ‘gird your loins’ before springing into action, changing her coffee stained shirt for a purple button-down that she left unbuttoned at the top.

She had just adjusted her belt and skirt when Miranda’s clacking heels heralded her arrival at the elevators.

“Shoot,” Andy said, grabbing her notepad, pen and thickest skin. She clacked herself to where Miranda was breezing in on precariously high heels, sunglasses in her hand, handbag in the crook of her elbow and impassive face watching Andy rush to meet her in the hallway. She accepted the book with a touch more grace than usual, placing her notepad on top and preparing to write the barrage of instructions Miranda would no doubt heave upon her. When they were not so forthcoming, Andy decided to fill the silence.

“Good morning, Miranda,” she began. “Phyllis called wondering when you’d be available for another afternoon high tea with that charity group, I told her your schedule was iffy at best and that I’d get back to her. Collin called and said he had twelve models for you to choose from that fitted your requirements, their headshots are on your desk waiting. Nigel said he fired Flynn for some plagiarism but assured that he’d talk to you about it today. And Callie will be arriving at half past nine as she confirmed to you yesterday for her doctor’s appointment,” she added as an afterthought. Miranda hummed uninterestedly and glided into the inner offices, launching her expensive coat over Callie’s desk.

“I was wondering if you had made up your mind about my time off this coming Friday through Monday? I was going to head to Cincinnati for-”

“-I did. The answer is no.” Andy gritted her teeth and hoped that her family would be as understanding as they had the last time this happened. It was unlikely.

“Right,” Andy said, quite put out, but unwilling to make it obvious. “Oh, and Clyde from the law firm called about your visa paperwork, he said it was important-“ but Miranda had interrupted with an open palm, telling her to shut up. She did, even if the rolling in her gut told her she should push the matter.

Andy was feeling uneasy for a number of reasons. Not least of all because Miranda had yet to actually say anything to her since her arrival, but mostly because she seemed to look at her shirt for a long moment, as if she could see the coffee stain that wasn’t there. Andy did her best not to blush, but it was a near thing as it always was with Miranda. She was not immune to the effect of being looked at by a beautiful woman, but she was immune to the ridiculous idea that Miranda was _looking_ and not just looking.

Andy was hanging up the beautiful navy-blue fur coat in the small closet when the silky intonation of her voice slithered from Miranda’s office. Andy hurried into the office, pen poised again to notepad in preparation of Miranda’s diatribe. When none was forthcoming again she looked up into the confused quirk of Miranda’s brow and the flicking of her eyes to the steaming coffee cup in her hand.

“Is there a reason why,” she paused to look at the cup again, “Melissa has given me her phone number?” Miranda took a satisfied sip at Andy’s mortified face.

“Oh,” she said hesitantly, “Melissa works at the Starbucks, and I guess she thought the coffees I get are mine?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, Andréa?”

“Telling. Um, I’m telling you.”

“Hmmm. And what will you say to Melissa when you call her?”

It was a strange question, one Andy hadn’t seen coming, but Miranda asks strange questions all day every day, and it’s Andy’s job to answer.

“I’m, um, not going to call her.”

“Poor Melissa,” Miranda said facetiously. Andy nodded, unsure what the correct response to that was.

“And what about the mess with Bennett?”

“Um, he’s in his office. I had the IT lady look at his computer last week and she got back to me. He’s been using the company computer for, um…” Andy didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but by the way Miranda looked at her, impatience rolling off the woman, Andy powered through. “Inappropriate browsing and viewing,” she managed.

“Such as?”

Christ.

“Pornography,” Andy squeaked, blushing furiously, then cursing her mother’s pale skin that she had inherited. Miranda’s lips twitched and Andy wanted to glare at her. Antagonist.

“Well, he’s also been screwing the legal team and the editing team,” Miranda said, waving her hand to alert Andy that they were going somewhere within the building. “And Elaine from _Auto Universe_,” she added, looking just in time to see Andy’s face flush again and her eyes widen. She croaked once then shut her mouth.

“Come along, Andréa.”

“Yes, Miranda.”

_Runway_ had two floors, such was the privilege of being a flagship magazine, but it meant that Andy had to either sprint down a flight of stairs before Miranda got out of the elevator, or on rare occasions, she’d ride with Miranda. It was a rare occasion sort of day apparently, because Miranda flicked her head (viciously impatient as usual), and Andy scurried in. It was just a floor difference, but it was still… _electrifying? _ for Andy to be in such close proximity to the older woman.

At the humble ring alerting them to their arrival, Miranda shot forward out of the elevator, Andy hot on her heels. Bennett’s office was in the between all the meeting rooms, which were nearly all full with morning storyboarding meetings or last minute detailing before a run through. Andy realised that perhaps Miranda wasn’t early so as to avoid a confrontation, but to invite one. It was certainly on theme for _Hell in Heels_, as the tabloids had coined in recent times. Andy twisted her face at the sour taste the moniker left her with.

The clipped gait alerted everyone to Miranda’s arrival, which was a lucky thing because Andy didn’t have time to send a warning to everyone. Miranda didn’t seem to take any notice of anyone, though, only walking directly to the horribly decorated office of Bennett Flynn, resident idiot. Andy had wondered how Miranda had not fired him earlier but obviously kept her mouth shut.

“Bennett,” Miranda crowed, entering the office without knocking and turning away immediately from the ugly desk to the least offending piece of furniture in the room, facetiously admiring it. Andy stood at the door with a pleasant expression, looking forward to seeing Miranda handle the situation. Bennett had been hitting on her at every opportunity that Andy waited for the Book, and even if Andy was bisexual, she wouldn’t touch Bennett with a 10 foot pole.

“Miranda,” Bennett said, nodding at her then looking to Andy and looking at her from head to toe. “Andy,” he said, tone more… creepy. Andy smiled tightly but said nothing.

“What brings you, Miranda?”

“Oh, a little housekeeping, if you will.”

“Ah, you heard about the cabinet then,” Bennett said, peacocking about the hideous hunk of wood Miranda was standing near. Andy nearly laughed at Miranda’s eye rolling, hidden from Bennett but visible to Andy. Miranda looked to her and raised an amused brow before spinning gracefully and looking to Bennett once more with a pleasant smile.

“Actually, Bennett,” she said, interrupting his monologue about the lengths he’d went to for the furniture, “I’m letting you go.”

“You’re- I’m,” he cleared his throat. “You’re what?”

“Letting you go,” Miranda said brightly again. Bennett sputtered before catching on to the news. Andy didn’t feel bad for him for a moment.

“Come along, Andréa,” Miranda said, turning and leaving the office. “What is he doing,” she asked Andy, obviously meaning Bennett.

“He’s pacing, angrily, and he’s- uh oh. He’s following us out.”

“Perfect.”

“You!”

Everyone in the meeting rooms with their glass walls and doors, turned to see who dared raise their voice at _Runway_. Andy knew then that Miranda _had_ planned this, and was about to make an example of Bennett to the rest of the staff. It was ruthless but also a little hot, Andy thought with some despair.

“You self-serving _bitch_! You think that you’re so much better than everyone else and you know what? You’re just a lonely old crone with no one to love, and a stick up your ass that you use to beat everybody else down with so you can stay on top!”

Were Andy raised differently, she might have rolled up her sleeves and actually punched the man out for saying something like that to Miranda. She would have done it in front of everyone at the office, and Miranda, and she would have enjoyed seeing the prick go down from being hit by a woman.

“Entitled jack ass,” Andy whispered. The murmuring around them was hushed, but Andy knew there were at least a few people among the crowd that would certainly agree with Bennett. Andy understood it and knew that if she worked in any other position than Miranda’s assistant, she’d have agreed with the slimy, meat-head. As it were, she was witness to Miranda’s fierce passion for her work and had admired her for that before she had begun to admire her as a woman, but that was a problem for future Andy.

“A very compelling set of insults, but they are all based on emotion,” Miranda said coolly. “The facts,” she emphasised, “are that you have a poor eye for detail, will blatantly plagiarise someone else’s work and call it your own, will spend more time cheating on your wife than working, and will harass any woman that exists in the building.”

Miranda took a confident step closer to the fuming lump of entitled-ness. “You have no integrity, and no shame. And now, you have no job.”

Andy did nothing to hide her grin from behind Miranda and took great pleasure in the ruddy-faced Bennett, just now realising that he had been played in front of _everyone_. Miranda pursed her lips at the man, looking down her slender nose at him from her height advantage and _tsked_. It was the best thing Andy had seen since Miranda had (none too subtly) declined a date from a board member in a board meeting. That was the day before.

“Come along, Andréa,” Miranda said smoothly, turning and walking back toward the elevators at just as brisk a pace as they had arrived. Andy didn’t even try to hide her lingering grin.

“Do try to be less impressed when that happens,” Miranda said, but her scolding tone was useless paired with the amused smirk and sarcastic eyebrow quirk. Andy said nothing.

.oOo.

Shortly after Miranda’s glorious casting of Bennett from heaven—_Runway_—Andy settled back into her work, sorting through emails and making phone calls to people who had been waiting to hear back for months. The amount of apologies Andy made in a day to Nate was only ever overtaken by the amount she made over the phone to the rich and famous and talented. Callie had also arrived in a flurry of hastiness and blondeness. She had taken one look at the productivity that Miranda and Andy had settled into and slotted herself behind her desk, silently.

“Callie,” Miranda murmured just as she sat. “Coffee.”

“Yes, Miranda.”

“Callie?”

Andy observed covertly from behind her monitor as Callie turned to look at their boss. “Yes, Miranda?”

“I trust the doctor was competent?” Andy held her breath and fought a lovesick expression from her face.

“Yes, Miranda.”

“Hmm. Coffee. Hot.” Andy off Callie went on a trip she had been making for nearly a year.

It wasn’t obvious to everyone, not even Miranda sometimes, but the EIC hid her tenderness behind boredom and flippancy. She used her uncaring, untouchable reputation day in and day out, and still Andy could see her care shine through. _I trust the doctor was competent_, was clever of her, making it seem the doctor was in any doubt at all. What Miranda meant was _are you well?_ Andy wondered if Miranda knew she did that. Probably. Probably not.

The vibrating from her drawer drew her attention away from the monitor, which she was staring blankly at. No one ever called her personal cell phone unless it was an emergency, and since she had no friends, it had to be her family. Grabbing the device and seeing it was in fact a call from her mother, Andy sighed and hit the accept button. Miranda was usually fine with her being on the phone as long as she was working, and it had only happened once before, so her track record was squeaky clean.

“Mom?”

“Andy! You were supposed to call me the day before yesterday,” her mother said in lieu of a greeting. Andy sighed.

“I forgot, sorry, mom. Work has been crazy.” It wasn’t a lie. Miranda had hated a shoot and demanded it be re-done which meant Andy had to call Irv to let him know, and organise the art department and then the modelling agency and _god she was glad it was sorted_.

“Well? Tell me it’s good news, Andy,” her mother said. She knew the tone and winced. It was the There Is A Right Answer To This And It’s Not No tone, and god help Andy but the answer was no.

“I can’t get away from work, mom. I’m sor-”

“-Sorry,” her mother interrupted, “Yeah, honey. I know. I’ll tell the girls tonight when they get home.” Andy held back her tears, not willing to ruin the little makeup she had time to put on, and unwilling to be mocked by Miranda should she see. Sometimes she wondered if moving away from home was worth it, especially with the girls being so young. But she had no time to feel sorry for herself. She was on _Runway_ time, and besides, she could cry later at home where Miranda wouldn’t see her.

“I got to go, mom,” Andy said regretfully.

“Okay. Bye, sweetie. Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Andy said, lying through her teeth.

“Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye.” She was the worst, but so was Miranda, sort of.

By the time Callie had returned with coffees, Andy was working diligently again, phone stored safely away in her desk and no tears in sight. They worked for an hour when Andy was called, summoning Miranda to Irv’s office for a “topic of the utmost importance”. Andy really hoped it was more important than what Miranda was going to do about the reshoot budget, because Andy did not need to do damage control on _that_ level for Miranda today.

“Miranda,” she said at Miranda’s door, continuing when Miranda looked up at her. “Irv says it’s life or death,” she said, bracing herself for the inevitable shitstorm approaching.

“Well, as long as Irv’s priorities are met,” Miranda said bitingly. Andy had learned that not all the bitterness and vitriol Miranda spoke with was aimed at her, but it still took a moment for her remember that. Miranda stood and took a last sip of her coffee, tipping the cup back and giving Andy an almost sinful view of her graceful neck. When she placed the cup back down, Andy pretended she hadn’t just had several… _thoughts_ about how attractive necks are (or how at least one neck in particular is).

“In no more than ten minutes you are to come and make up some reason why I need to leave,” Miranda said, sweeping passed Andy to the outer offices.

“Of course.”

“No more than ten minutes, Andréa.”

“No more than ten minutes, Miranda.”

Miranda looked to her for a moment then nodded. “Good.”

As she waltzed off to the elevator, Miranda wondered if Andréa realised how long she let her eyes linger. It was distracting for Miranda, who had a strict moral policy on relations with people from work. Not that she was thinking of having _relations_ with Andréa, but her point still stood that if she were tempted (and she might have been, once or twice), then she simply would not. She had never broken that policy, and she never would.

As the elevator doors opened to the 24th floor, Miranda rolled her eyes at herself. To even ruminate on these things was useless and unproductive, because of course she was not ever going to be with Andréa if they worked together. It just wouldn’t happen.

“Good morning, Miranda,” Irv’s secretary, Delores or something equally horrid, said to her. She remained silent as she always did when the older woman greeted her. Knocking once on the dark wooden door and stepping in, Miranda looked scornfully at Irv before turning to his guest and blinking once at the sight of Damien Elias. _So_, she thought hesitantly, _not about the reshoot. _Irv was generally the only one that hounded her about money, but what other reason could she have been summoned, especially with the co-chairman of the whole publication?

“Miranda,” Irv greeted, smile awfully wide. Wide enough that a glint of his gold tooth taunted Miranda.

“Irving,” she returned, coolly. “Damien,” she greeted, with a little more cordiality. The man nodded respectfully back at her before turning to Irv.

“Miranda,” he began, “we seem to have a bit of a problem.”

“Well, you didn’t call me here to gab about _American Idol_, I’m sure.” She revelled in his bristling at her. He made it too easy.

“No, decidedly not. We got a phone call from the office of immigration this morning. Lovely folks,” he added conversationally. Miranda had gone cold inside, icy and blistering, but remained seemingly perfectly bored. “You’ve denied every attempt at communication with them and ignored the calls from your lawyer. That wasn’t very bright of you, Miranda,” Irv said.

“Is there a reason you’re wasting my time, Irving, or do I need to figure that out, too?”

“You’re being deported.”

Icy. Blistering.

“Excuse me?”

“Miranda,” Damien said carefully, “The office for immigration is decidedly straight and narrow, black and white, down the line.”

“Use another expression and I might be impressed.”

“What the case is,” he continued without acknowledging the barb, “is that you did fill out your paperwork, but you failed to remain in the country while it was being processed. Your trip to London is your undoing, I’m afraid,” the man said apologetically, and though Miranda hated it, she knew he was genuine. “Unless you have a claim to America, then you cannot stay here. You are being deported back to England until it’s sorted out. It will take about six months to a year, I’m sorry to say.”

“A _year_,” Miranda hissed, then shut her eyes and cleared her throat. “Fine, I can work remotely at a push, the magazine won’t suffer-”

“-Oh no, Miranda. You cannot work for an American company while you’ve been deported. You’ll have to resign,” Irv said with a voice that said _poor you_ and a face that said _fuck yes! _“We’ve decided Bennett Flynn is the best choice for your replacement.

“Bennet Flynn,” Miranda said, unimpressed. “The same Bennett Flynn that I just fired not more than an hour ago?”

“What!?”

“We can sort out the details later, Irv,” Damien said placatingly.

“Regardless,” Irv said, regaining composure quickly no doubt because his co-chairman sat beside him. “You’re not working here anymore, Miranda.”

“Listen here you little-”

“-I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

And as though the angels had heralded her themselves, there was Andréa, dressed in a purple shirt that Miranda knew was from the Closet and surprisingly matched the rest of her outfit. She was speaking about something as Miranda looked at her, her brain working overtime to figure out how Andréa could fix this problem for her. She turned to Irv and Damien and the glint of gold teeth and a gold ring gave her a brilliant, risky, stupid idea.

“Andréa, come here,” she said as sweetly as she knew how. She saw the confusion in those big brown eyes and jerked her head subtly, yanking Andréa to her side with the demanding gesture.

“Play along,” she whispered, quiet enough for the men not to hear but for Andréa to understand that she expected her to perform for her.

“Darling,” she said, louder that time, “I think we’ll have to tell them now. It’s as good a time as any, I suppose,” she said. The brunette looked at her blankly, then back at Irv and Damien. Back to Miranda.

“Good a time as any,” she said mechanically. Miranda worried for a moment that Andréa was going to fail her, was going to mess this up more than it already was. But then, like magic, Andréa slipped her hand into hers, and smiled a sort of smile Miranda hadn’t seen her use up until that point.

“You’re sure?” Miranda took a moment to let the words sink into her awareness, sure that maybe Andréa didn’t know her so well, couldn’t read her so well. But she did and could.

“Of course.” Miranda turned to Irv’s red face, getting redder by the second, and delighted in the shade that was so similar to Bennett’s from earlier. What a rush. “Andréa and I are engaged to be married,” Miranda said with just a touch of tenderness to convince the shocked faces staring at her.

“She’s your assistant,” Irv bit out.

“There is no rule in my contract that says I cannot date a colleague,” Miranda informed sweetly.

“Nor mine,” added Andréa. Miranda squeezed her hand just barely.

“Well, congratulations,” Damien said, and Miranda had an inkling he was truly pleased.

“Yes, we’ll have to move the date up, of course, but I’m sure it will work out,” Miranda said. She ignored Andréa stiffening beside her.

“Better head down to the immigration offices,” Damien said with a grin. Miranda nodded and began guiding a pliant Andréa out of the office. “And Miranda?”

Turning to see Damien holding up a beringed hand, he pointed to the gold flash on his left ring finger and said, “The sooner you make it legal, the better.”

“Certainly.” And then they were off. Miranda dropped Andréa’s hand and began a march of furious pace back to the elevators, noting with some relief that Andréa was following her, though her face was blank, and she was still stiff. She watched distractedly as her assistant glided around her like a wraith as she ordered Callie to get her and Andréa’s bag and coat, before waltzing off to the elevators once more. She called Roy herself, not wanting to deal with Andréa’s near catatonic state and agreed to meet him in the silver town car by the time she was at the road.

Andréa got in the car, still silent, and sat looking at the raised privacy screen for nearly the whole ride to the immigration office.

“Engaged?” Miranda should have known it would be the first thing out of the woman’s mouth.

“Yes.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“Hang on a minute, I can’t marry you,” Andy said, looking to the cool marble of Miranda’s visage. “No way, I’m not marrying you,” she said.

“Yes you are. Because if you don’t, you won’t ever get a job in the publishing industry.” Miranda didn’t like to threaten people like that, people like Andréa who were loyal and who did what she needed. But she would not leave her magazine. She would not leave it to the hands of a man that had disrespected her at every turn or to a man that thought he was her boss in more aspects than the his actual one. She had never relied on a man to do what needed to be done and she wouldn’t start now.

“You- You’re threatening me?”

“I’m alerting you to a set of choices you may make.”

“That’s not giving me a choice, Miranda.”

And the disappointment in Andréa’s tone was hard to take, the face she made, like a kicked puppy, a betrayed friend, it was all hard to take. But she would take it. She would.

“Well, whatever you want to call it, you have thirty seconds to make it before we get there.”

“I-”

“Andréa, we will do this necessary thing, then a year or two down the line after not living with one another and not changing anything much about how we are now, we will get a speedy divorce, and all will be well. You will have your job and I will have mine. Now, for goodness sake, do pretend I’m the love of your life.” The dramatic exit from the car might have been a little over the top, even for Miranda, but she didn’t want to hear another refusal to marry her. She was a stone-cold bitch, but even bitches had hearts… Sometimes.

The interior to the immigration offices was greyer than a winter day in London, and just as cold and bleak. Miranda shivered and cut the line, not bothering with the scornful glares sent her way as she was seen to quickly and efficiently. Andréa had cringed away from the disgruntled people in the line, but Miranda summoned her along with to the small office where her fate would be decided.

“Ms. Priestly,” he began. ‘He’ being Carl Walter, and, Miranda thought, a man bearing incredible resemblance to a cricket. How odd.

“Just Miranda,” she said.

“Miranda, then. Your visa has been declined and so you are here with your, uh,” he looked to Andréa, who was still and cognisant enough, “fiancée. You are engaged to be married?”

“Yes,” Miranda smiled from her plastic seat, trying to look eager at the very idea (she didn’t have to try too hard).

“And you, Ms. Sachs-

“-Just Andy,” she too interrupted.

“Andy, what do your parents think of your engagement to your boss?”

“Um, well, they don’t know yet,” she said. “But that’s because we’ve been waiting to tell them this weekend,” she said, improvising. Well, maybe she didn’t plan to roll belly up to Miranda for this situation they were in. “Miranda’s coming with me to my parents’ house and we’re staying the long weekend. We plan to tell them then.”

“And Miranda, where is this trip taking place?” Andy worried Miranda would mess this up, not having ever asked Andy a personal question in her whole tenure.

“Cincinnati,” she said without hesitation. Mr Walter’s eyebrows rose.

“I see. And your parents, Miranda?” Andy, too, wanted to hear the answer.

“Both dead. No other relatives.” She felt bad immediately for prying, even only if by accidental proxy.

“Andy, you are here by your own will?”

It was not the question either of them expected, but, Miranda realised with relief, Andréa seemed shocked at the very notion.

“Of course,” she defended.

“And you understand what it means to commit visa fraud?”

“Well, I-”

“I’ll tell you, Ms. Sachs. Visa fraud, if you are found to be guilty of it, is a felony here in the United States of America. It’s five years in prison, maximum and a minimum $150,000 fine.”

Miranda felt that iciness creep outward from her middle again when Andréa swallowed noticeably.

“So, I ask again, Ms. Sachs. Anything you want to tell me?”

Andy was sweating, but only lightly, which was an achievement, she felt. She was looking into the dusty, hazel eyes of a man that wanted to send Miranda across the world, and was feeling the icy blue eyes of the same woman on her face. And, god, there were a lot of things she wanted to tell Mr Walter. She wanted to say _Yes! I was forced here!_ but she didn’t. She wanted to say that even though it was definitely a hoax, she would marry Miranda anyway. She wanted to say that she didn’t need to pretend that Miranda was the woman of her dreams.

“The truth is,” she began, reaching over for Miranda’s hand, “that we’re both private people, and we both work together.” She could see the scepticism in Mr Walter’s eyes. “And with my upcoming promotion to copy-editor, we didn’t want to disclose our relationship in case people got the wrong idea,” Andy added, daring Miranda to argue with her. She kept her mouth pursed shut. “But we spend a lot of time together, and really,” she said, looking to Miranda, “how could anyone _not_ fall in love with her?” She looked back to Mr Walter. “I’m going to marry her,” she said finally. He sighed.

“One of those, eh? Well, you should know that I will be scheduling an interview for Monday coming. You will both be isolated in separate rooms and I will ask each of you questions pertaining to your relationship. I will ask questions that every couple should know. If either of your mess up by even a hair, I will send you,” he said pointing to Miranda with a dollar store pen, “back to England permanently. And I will send you,” Andy this time, same pen, “to prison and then the bank to cash in the $150,000 fine. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” both women answered.

“Great. See you Monday, bright and early. And I’ll be wanting to hear about your holiday.”

They both stand and leave the office like their asses are on fire, Andy in front for yet another dizzying change. Once outside, Miranda seems to be distracted by her phone, not taking notice of Andy who is looking around the city like she’s ever seen it before.

“You did well,” Miranda said, not looking up still. “A nice touch about us being around each other often. But the promotion part was a touch…” Miranda thought for a moment. “Dishonest.” Andy laughed in disbelief.

“_That_ was the dishonest part? You’re kidding,” she says daringly. At this point she figures that Miranda kind of needs her, and so she can catch some of Andy’s heat, because goddam, she’s pretty mad.

“Yes, dishonest, because it’s not happening.”

“Okay. I quit. Have fun in England,” Andy says, turning and walking away.

“Andréa, get back here.” Andy turns and sees Miranda’s lips are pursed and her eyes are stormy but Andy doesn’t care how hot she looks.

“You’re being hasty.”

“I’m not the one that puts _90 Day Fiancé_ to shame,” she hissed back.

“Fine,” Miranda spat. “You can have your promotion once this is all sorted out.”

“Immediately after it’s sorted out. Not, like, years from now.”

“Fine.”

“And we go to my parents’ house this weekend. You will attend, and you will let me tell them in my own time.”

“Yes, yes, _fine_.”

“And one more thing,” Andy says, “You have to propose to me properly, like it’s necessary to your whole life because that’s _exactly_ what it is right now.”

If Miranda could kill people with her glare (Andy was sure there had been some close calls), Andy would be dead.

“_Fine_,” Miranda hissed. “But not here. Now, call Roy and don’t speak until we’re back at the office.”

Andy says nothing. No spritely “Yes, Miranda” and no nod of acknowledgment. Andy would have screamed if she tried. Roy collected them, they sit in tumultuous silence, and make it back to the office before lunch time. Andy doesn’t eat, too furious, but she does call her mother to tell her that she would be coming that weekend and that Miranda was joining her. She told her mother why, but not really. Just that they were together, and Andy wanted to take the weekend’s opportunity to introduce her. “Two birds,” she had said. Her mother sighed.

The day moved quickly after that. Andy was glad for it because it meant she was busy, and if she was busy, then she wouldn’t be able to talk herself out of helping Miranda. It might have been easier, but Sachs’ hearts were stubborn and hers was no exception. Soon, Miranda had left, Callie tripping over herself to get her coat and bag and ordering Andréa to deliver the Book that night. If it was a punishment, then Andy decided not to care about it. She was too busy trying not to be angry to be angry.

“Sorry it’s late, Andy,” Gal said, placing the Book on her desk at, Andy checked the time, 11:09pm.

“No worries, Gal. She’s been changing things around like usual.”

“Have a good night, Andy.” Not likely.

“Yeah, you too.”

Roy was silent, and so was Andy. The car ride was smooth, traffic minimal at the late hour (11:18), which she was grateful for. When she arrived at the doorstep to her _fiancée’s_ house, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Not at Miranda’s house, because that much was obvious, but agreeing to the sham of a marriage that her first would no doubt be. She unlocked the door and moved none too quietly around the first floor, placing the Book on the table with the god damned flowers then turning to leave.

“Andréa,” she heard.

“Shit,” she whispered, and turned to walk toward the den where Miranda would no doubt be.

“Miranda,” she said upon seeing the woman. She was dressed in tailored black slacks with a statement belt and a white, strapless shirt, neck bare. She was beautiful and somehow, that made Andy angrier.

“Andréa,” Miranda said again, and Andy looked at her again, in her eyes this time and saw Miranda looked back at her. The EIC took a deep breath and bent to grab something behind her.

“I once told you I needed the best team with me,” she began, and Andy suddenly felt as though her reality was not reality at all. “I meant it then, and I mean it now. Marry me,” Miranda said softly. Andy, not breathing, looked to the small, open velvet box in Miranda’s small hand and felt her heart cry. A golden, vintage ruby engagement ring nestles in black satin winked at her. What a waste of a perfectly good proposal, she thought.

“Yes, Miranda,” she said, holding out her hand like a good assistant. Miranda’s shoulders shifted and she wondered how she had offended Miranda by doing as she asked. The ring was warm when Miranda slipped in onto her finger, or maybe she was just cold. Icy. Blistering.

“Andréa-”

“I’ll meet you at the airport. You have your ticket information in your inbox.”

“Yes, I-”

“Goodnight, Miranda.”

Andy turns and leaves Miranda in her den, clops down the short hall then out the front door. She wonders why she’s walking with a lean, then concludes that maybe, just maybe, the ring is too heavy for even her to bear. Time will tell, she says, looking at the round ruby, the tiny, sparkling diamonds that look like little stars in a gold sky. A tear falls from her eye as she slips back into the car with Roy, keen to be driven home for a change.

Time will tell.


	2. When Things Are Brighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Adelaide, the mother we all deserve! Carlisle, the arsehole every plot needs! And two very cute guests! Also Miranda and Andy are so clueless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your guys' comments were so sweet!! I was really glad you're all liking the fic, so thank you so much for commenting!! Also I realise that I uploaded this as a oneshot before but it's obviously a multichapter fic so don't freak out anymore!!!!! Anyways I hope you all enjoy! :)))
> 
> Again, not beta'd, we die like real men.

.oOo. CHAPTER TWO .oOo.

Andy had checked in and moved to the corresponding gate on her plane ticket when she saw Miranda, who was lounging in the VIP booths and looking intently at her phone. Andy had booked tickets for coach, but of course Miranda had taken matters into her own hands and bumped them up to business class. She sighed tiredly and walked over to where her _darling fiancée _was seated, sitting herself opposite from Miranda, and looking busy with a book she brought for the weekend that she’d been meaning to read. She vaguely heard Miranda hanging up the phone call she was on then looked up when a throat cleared.

“Where is your ring?”

Andy placed a large, customer service smile on her face. “I’m well, thank you, Miranda. How are you this morning?”

“Yes, yes, good,” Miranda said dismissively. “Where is your ring?”

“I’m wearing it,” Andy said simply, looking back to her book and feeling a rush from not cowering at Miranda for once.

“You’re not.”

“I am, actually,” Andy argued, reaching into the hem of her shirt and producing a chain with her ring on it. She hadn’t been able to sleep with it on her finger, so she took it off when she got home and looked that morning for a chain to match it as best as she could. It was still heavy, and it thumped against her sternum when she walked, reminding her of her promise to help Miranda.

“Why not on your hand,” Miranda demanded. Andy frowned at her, annoyed by the expectation that Miranda had greeted her with.

“Because I don’t want to wear it _on my hand_, Miranda. I’ll put it on later,” she said with finality, looking back at her book and ignoring Miranda, who promptly looked at her phone. It took about nine seconds for Andy to feel a little bad, but damn, she hadn’t slept well because she realised what exactly she was doing. She was about to play doting fiancée to her family with Miranda, who she already had feelings for, and who didn’t return those feelings. She was a ticket to America for Miranda, a tool, not unlike an assistant. And that had frustrated her to no end last night, when she thought about how this might blow up in her face later on. No promotion or petty squabbling would make her feel better, though, so she resolved to be kinder, even if only a little.

When their flight was called, Andy offered to take Miranda’s carry on luggage, which was just her handbag, and felt marginally better when Miranda nodded her head in assent. They were seated quickly in the roomy, reclinable seats and tended to by a stewardess who was used to dealing with types like Miranda Priestly. Andy was grateful that she wouldn’t have to hear muttering about “incompetent flight staff” like the last time they travelled somewhere by plane. The minute they were in the air and the seatbelt light had been turn off, Andy pulled out the folder of questions she had managed to acquire for their interview come Monday.

“What is that,” Miranda asked, not looking up from her phone.

“The questions they’ll ask us on Monday. I know all of them for you, but you don’t know them for me,” she replied casually, flipping the page. Miranda turned then, leaning over and providing Andy with a waft of her perfume, which was subtle and lovely just as Miranda wasn’t.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said.

“Which one,” Andy asked, looking for a question on the page that might have offended Miranda.

“No, the fact that you know all these things about me. Pass it here,” she said, snatching the book from Andy’s hands and nearly earning an honest to god reprimand. _Andy_ reprimanding _Miranda_. Welcome to the twilight zone, she thought sardonically.

“What’s my shoe size?”

“That’s literally the easiest one there,” Andy complained. Miranda looked to her and raised an expectant brow. “Eight in most, but a nine in Prada,” she answered resignedly.

“Hmm. Am I short or far-sighted?”

“Far.”

“How many pillows do I sleep with?” Miranda looked at her like she was sure Andy didn’t know the answer.

“You ask me to buy packs with six pillows, but you only use four of the covers because you only have four pillows.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“I know everything in that package, I told you.” Andy rolled her eyes and grabbed the book back. “What did I want to be as a child,” she asks, turning to Miranda.

“A fashion disaster,” she says snarkily.

“Ha ha, you’re a hit. I wanted to be a ballerina.”

“_You_?”

Andy ignored her. “What was the name of my elementary school?”

“Cornfed Hick State Elementary.”

“_Miranda_,” Andy hissed. “In case you’ve forgotten in the last twenty-four hours: this isn’t for me, it’s for you. It’s so you’re not shoved in a box and shipped off to god knows where in the UK where you are neither EIC nor _the_ mover and shaker in the fashion world. If you’re not going to treat this like _I_ could go to jail, and _you_ could mess your whole life up then we might get somewhere with this. Okay?”

Well. So much for being kinder. Miranda looked at her with pursed lips and almost flaring nostril. Her eyes were flinty, but Andy wasn’t about to apologise. For all the shit Miranda was getting her into, she really didn’t want her to be deported. She didn’t want Miranda as her boss to go through that and she didn’t want Miranda as her… as someone she cared about have to go through that either.

“I want us to be successful in this,” she said instead of apologising. “I want you to be able to stay in America, but you’re not going to be allowed to if you don’t know any of this. Work _with_ me right now, instead of against me.”

“Fine,” Miranda huffed.

“Great,” Andy said carefully. “What’s my middle name?”

“Dianne,” Miranda said, looking away from Andy.

“Mhmm,” Andy said, pleased. “What sport did I play in college?”

“Softball?”

“Soccer,” Andy corrected. Miranda nodded, still looking at the seat in front of them. She was thinking about all the films she had seen in her life (not very many) and how couples in them apologised when they fought. She couldn’t think of any apologies that would be appropriate with Andréa. There was no room to sweep her up into a passionate kiss, and even if there was, she wouldn’t do that. She didn’t quite have the drama or the necessary distance to write a poetic letter and send it.

“That’s enough,” she says instead of _Thank you for helping me_.

“Yes, Miranda.”

She did try not to stare as Andréa leaned back into her seat and heaved a heavy sigh, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply. Andréa did have her charm, Miranda supposed. And she was beautiful, Miranda acknowledged, but she didn’t think she was allowed to think that, Andréa being her employee and then her unwilling fiancée. Miranda didn’t deserve her kindness but she would accept it anyway, because even if she was _the_ face of fashion, genuine kindness was so rare in her world, even more so in a personal sense. She’d mop the kindness Andréa gave her up until it ran out and then she’d pretend not to be disappointed when there was no more.

When the plane landed, more smoothly that Andy thought it would, they were both off in a well-known march across the airport to the luggage carousel, Miranda barking orders into her phone and Andy tagging along, carrying the carry-on luggage behind her like an obedient assistant. She was going to let Miranda work, what with adopting the supportive fiancée role, but then Miranda had flicker her wrist at Andy to get her suitcase while she turned and talked to whoever was getting torn a new one on the phone.

“Absolutely not,” Andy said quietly, leaving the carry-on things with Miranda. She marched over to the carousel, squeezing between a few bulky business men who were taking up too much space and waiting for her suitcase. Miranda’s came first, Gucci and ridiculous, and Andy moved for it, grabbing it and standing back while she waited for her own. Chugging happily along the conveyor belt came her beat up, non-brand black suitcase with a keychain the girls had given her for her birthday. She grabbed it quickly and moved back to where Miranda was, dropping the expensive suitcase with none of the delicacy Miranda expected, grabbed her own carry-on and began to walk away.

“Andréa? What on earth?”

“I got your luggage for you,” Andy returned.

“What,” Miranda asked icily.

“I’m not here as your assistant, Miranda,” Andy said sharply, looking the woman in her eyes. “I’m not even here as your fiancée. You’re here as _my_ fiancée, and as your fiancée, I’d love to get your luggage for you, but if you use that flippant hand gesture at me I’m not going to at all.”

“You are expecting me to be completely different, Andréa.”

“I am expecting you to wear the consequences of your shoddy improvisational skills,” Andy vexed. “Yesterday I was your assistant and today I am your fiancée. I have to introduce you to my family and you have to behave like you at least like me in a “I don’t think you’re worth less than the dirt I walk on” sense. Work _with_ me, Miranda,” Andy implored, gentler this time, trying to get through to Miranda, trying not to feel so bad for sticking up for herself.

“Fine,” Miranda snapped. “I’ll get my own luggage and kiss your feet.”

“I’ll get your luggage, and in return, you treat me like you’re going to marry me.”

Miranda watched with a twitching eye as Andréa grabbed her Gucci suitcase and her own brandless monstrosity and wheeled them away in front of her. Miranda shut her phone and put it in her handbag before running daintily to catch up to the brunette. When they got to the exit gate, Miranda immediately spied Andréa’s name upon a cardboard sign held by a suited man with a small smile and grey hair.

“Hey,” Andy said to him. Miranda frowned at the nod the brunette received from him, confused by the familiarity the two shared.

“Good thinking getting a car,” Miranda said in an attempt at praise and civility. The way Andréa beamed at her did not make her heart thump hard in her chest. She did not want to stare at the joy she had inspired on such a face. Not at all. Preposterous.

The car was very nice, Miranda thought privately, when they loaded their things into the boot (by ‘they’ she of course meant Andréa and the chauffer who had said his name was Travis. Andréa seemed to already know this, but Miranda suppose that was expected.). Once encumbered in the comfortable, pleasant smelling car, Miranda immediately got back on the phone, sending emails and making calls. Andy did the same from her phone but at a much more leisurely pace than if she were at _Runway_. She was officially on her long weekend, so any work she did was out of the goodness of her heart.

She stopped about halfway to their destination, a little sickly from looking at a screen while moving, and accidentally got caught into looking at Miranda. She had a leg crossed primly over her other leg and the silhouette of the morning sun gleamed in her hair. She was sure that what ever hairspray Miranda used, there were small pieces of glitter to catch the light. She was beautiful, Andy knew as she turned away, and she was just using her (which she tried to convince herself she was fine with).

When the familiar town near her home came into view, Andy perked up a little, excited to see her family after so long away from them. She saw the sign that directed to Cherry Fork go by and sat patiently as the Appalachia Reserve sign showed 50 miles. She was nearly home. She wondered how her mother and father had been faring lately with the firm. Her father had just finished up two cases that were pretty prominent in Cincinnati before returning home for a long-deserved rest, her mother had told her. Andy was sure she’d hear about it and had to remember how to pretend to be interested.

Miranda was still on her phone, working through some issue that an absolute imbecile had made back at _Runway_ with some headshots. She had to get Nigel to, in her stead, get in touch with the modelling agency, then with Derek who had been the chosen photographer to postpone, then fire the idiot responsible for the mistake. She was so engrossed in her tasks (and ignoring Andréa) that she didn’t even notice the rich greenery of the landscape outside, or the several large estate like houses. She didn’t notice the clear blue sky, or the gravel drive they had turned onto that went for near a mile. She didn’t notice the ornately wrought gates that opened upon pin password, nor the enormous colonial mansion that was postured at the end of the rounded drive, fountain and all. She hadn’t noticed any of it until Andréa’s door opened and she looked outside.

Opening her door, Miranda moved over to where Andréa was helping Travis unload their luggage. “You didn’t tell me you were rich,” Miranda hissed, noticing the two dozen or so cars parked off the drive way. What in the fresh hell?!

“I’m not,” Andréa replied easily. “My parents are.” Miranda had just opened her mouth to reply with something she might have regretted saying when squealing heralded the arrival of two young girls, both flying toward Andréa and leaping onto her. In a show of strength, Andréa lifted them both and swung them around in a circle, all three of them laughing.

“Caroline, Cassidy, let your sister breathe,” came a serene voice. Miranda noted that the woman exiting the large mansion. She was slender and just a touch shorter than Andréa, but it was clear that she was Andréa’s mother, with her brown eyes and auburn hair and smiling mouth.

“Hey, momma,” Andréa said, letting her _sisters_ down and hugging the other woman.

“Hey, baby,” the redhead said, pulling back and looking at Miranda, who was standing awkwardly by the car and watching the interaction with more than a little confusion. “And who’s your lady?”

“Oh! Mom, this is Miranda Priestly, my partner. Miranda, my mother Adelaide Sachs.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sachs,” Miranda said, surprised by her need to be accepted by Andréa’s mother. She tamped it down violently.

“You too, Miranda. You’re the first person Andy’s brought home to us,” she said, smiling the same way Andréa did.

“Andy,” one of the girls said, tugging on Andréa’s shirt sleeve.

“I didn’t forget you, silly.” Miranda marvelled at the sheer tenderness on Andréa’s face as she spoke to the girl. “Miranda, this is Caroline,” she said, placing a hand on red head of hair belonging to a girl with several freckles on her face. “And this is Cassidy,” she finished. Cassidy had the same freckles but in a unique pattern, different to her twin’s. Miranda nodded at them both and said, “Hello.”

They both hid behind their older sister (their _sister_) and watched Miranda warily. Her shoulders lowered just slightly, feeling more stung by the rejection of children. Andréa leaned down, however, and whispered in their ears, looking at Miranda with cheek. She squinted at her fiancée then widened her eyes when the twin girls ran over to her, asking question after question.

“You’re really from the magazine?”

“What’s it like in France?”

“Have you ever made your own clothes?”

“Will you help me pick out an outfit for tonight?”

“Girls,” Adelaide said. “Don’t overwhelm her, darlings. Give her a moment to breathe.”

“Sorry, momma,” they said in unison.

“It’s alright, Mrs Sachs, truly.”

“Call me Adelaide, Miranda,” the older woman said with a kind smile, turning to Andréa again. “It’s good to have you home, baby,” Adelaide says, moving in for another, longer hug. Andy missed her mother’s hugs when she lived so far away and was determined to give and receive as many as possible while there.

“Where’s dad,” she asked into her mother’s shoulder, observing Miranda talk to her sisters with such an animated face that Andy could hardly believe it was still Miranda.

“He’s just finishing up the rest of his work, so he can spend the weekend free.”

“You mean he’s avoiding me,” Andy sighed.

“Yeah,” Adelaide said disappointedly. “I saw right through it, too when he told me.”

“He’s going to have to come to terms with it one day,” Andy said, pulling back and grabbing her and Miranda’s carry-on bags, noting that Travis had taken the suitcases. “Might as well be this weekend.”

“I’ve already talked to him. I told him that this weekend is for you and the girls. If he makes it about him I’m going to lose it.” Andy snorted.

“World war three, huh.”

“You bet!”

“Now, what’s with all the cars?” Her mother blushed, and Andy groaned.

“A party?”

“A welcome party! Everyone’s in the barn already! It’s for you and your lady, who is also very much your boss, by the way. I want the details on how _that_ happened,” her mother whispered conspiratorially, noting that Miranda was following behind them with the girls.

“Maybe later,” Andy said, walking inside finally.

“There’s going to be a party tonight,” Caroline said.

“For you and Andy! We helped decorate,” added Cassidy.

“And then it’s our tenth birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh my, what a celebration that will be. Are you both excited to be ten?”

“Yeah!”

“Andy,” Cassidy called. Andy turned from where she stood going up the stair to her room.

“Yeah, Cassie?”

“Can we give Miranda a tour? We’ll be quick because everyone’s wondering where you are!”

“Well, I certainly don’t have a problem with it, but you’ll have to ask Miranda.”

And how could Miranda say no to those little freckled faces and big blue eyes? Impossible.

“I’d be delighted,” she said with a smile.

“I’ll come get you in ten minutes so you can get ready for the party,” Andy said to Miranda, rolling her eyes when Miranda waved her away and went off with the twins. Interesting, Andy thought, that Miranda had taken to the so quickly. She wondered if the woman liked children or just the twins. Her mother, dressed in a red, long-sleeved maxi dress tell Andy to be no more than half an hour until she gets to the barn. She nods and hurries off to her room, where hers and Miranda’s luggage has been placed.

“Shoot,” she whispers, because she’s just realised that of course her mother and father would have put them in the same room. Of course they would, and now it would be weird to ask for separate rooms because they’re supposedly together and good god, Andy might not live through the weekend after all.

She resolves to worry about it later and unzips her suitcase to get an outfit that she packed for this exact situation. It’s simple enough that Miranda would be aghast if she wore it to _Runway_, but also fancy enough that the people that have been invited won’t feel underdressed. It’s perfect, and the dark green colour brings out her eyes, or so her mother tells her (it also compliments the ring she is wearing on her right hand, but she tries to be less pleased about that than she is). She decided on sandal flats, which again, will probably give Miranda a stroke.

“Not that she’s even old enough for one,” Andy mumbles aloud. 41 is hardly old.

It’s been fifteen minutes since she saw Miranda, so she goes off to find her sisters and boss—um, fiancée, to hound them all into getting ready. She’s down the hall from her sisters’ room and she can already hear their giggling. It’s a sweet sound, one she’d missed. When she looks into the room her sisters insist on still sharing, she sees Miranda in the middle of a deluge. There are clothes everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, hanging from the standing mirror in the corner of the room… It’s very typical of Caroline and Cassidy.

“Caroline Therese and Cassidy Elaine, what is this mess,” she says in her sternest voice. The girls freeze from their position (which happens to be wrapping a scarf around Miranda’s neck) and turn to her. Three pairs of bright blue eyes look at her and she has to fight the urge to laugh. She’d never say it to Miranda’s face, but the woman can be cute sometimes.

“Hey, Andy,” Cassidy says, trying to sound innocent. Andy squints.

“Don’t ‘Hey, Andy’ me, young lady. What happened in here? It’s not tornado season.”

“We were getting ready with Miranda,” Caroline says.

“And you needed to show her every article of clothing you both have?”

“Um…”

“Andréa, really, don’t be so hard on them,” Miranda scolds with glittering eyes. Andy turns her stare to her and the amusement in the older woman’s face melts away a little.

“Are you volunteering to clean up after them?” Miranda looks around at the disaster zone that is the room she’s in.

“Well, perhaps we were a little excited,” she says cautiously. Andy chuckles.

“You two,” she says looking at her kid sisters, “can either clean it now before the party, or you can leave early and clean before bed. Momma is not to see this, okay?”

“We’ll clean it before bed!”

“You had better,” Andy says in a tone the three sisters are familiar with. “You,” she says to Miranda. “You need to get ready before my mother comes up and drags us all by the ear.” Miranda nods and unravels the scarf on her neck, patting the girls’ shoulders and telling them she’d see them soon. Andy walks with Miranda back to her—_their_ room and holds up a hand when Miranda pieces together the situation.

“Yeah, I know, but if we ask for separate rooms now, mom, and dad especially, will get suspicious. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Andy says, gesturing to the short couch at the foot of the bed. Miranda lets her forehead fall to her palm and sighs deeply. Andy gets it, it’s not ideal, but it’s not her fault. None of this is her fault.

“You will not sleep on the couch, Andréa.”

“But-“

“No,” Miranda interrupts snappishly. “This is your room, and this is my fault that we’re here at all. The bed is huge.” Andy is a little too caught up in the shock that Miranda had admitted fault to realise that she’s be sharing a bed with her. It’s actually a really nice thought were it not for the fact that Miranda hates Andy.

“Are you sure?”

“When am I ever not sure, Andréa?”

“Well, that’s a good point, I suppose.”

“I know. Now, out. I need to get changed and even if we’re getting married, you’re not allowed to stay for the show.”

Andy’s cheeks go peachy with the imagery that Miranda’s words evoke. She turns and tells Miranda that she’ll be in the hall waiting, hopefully before Miranda can see her flushed face. Miranda smirks when as she leaves so she doesn’t think she’s so lucky.

It’s only ten minutes when Miranda emerges in a cloud of sandalwood perfume and a dove grey dress, her hair coiffed to perfection as usual and her makeup only touched up. Her eyes seem brighter with the dull coloured dress, her skin paler. Andy hates how beautiful she is because Andy’s not supposed to find her so lovely, but she does, and it’s very inconvenient considering they’re fake engaged to be fake married. God, what a mess.

“You look great,” Andy says a little breathlessly. Miranda quirks a brow and says, “I know,” with such smoothness that Andy has to blink to snap out of it. She flicks her head and begins leading Miranda down the stairs and out the house through the kitchen to the barn.

“That is not a barn,” Miranda says. Andy laughs and offers her elbow, delighted when Miranda takes it without fuss.

“We call it ‘the barn’ only because it used to be one before momma and dad renovated everything.”

The barn in question is actually a low, wide structure with a kitchen in the back, several couches and tables with chairs for people to sit at. It’s modern and homey, which is exactly what the rest of the house looks like, so Andy thinks its suits, and it’s perfect for hosting a large gathering like the one her mother has planned. There are children of guests running around in their little dresses and trousers and bare feet, and a few teenagers that she remembers being the same children last time she was home.

“There she is!”

Andy smiles at a group of older adults and walks over, introducing Miranda to people she had grown up with. They seemed surprised that Andy had brought someone home, which was fair, but she was relieved that they weren’t phobic or anything, because in the rich, isolated parts of Ohio, the chances of that were not low. Miranda was charming as she usually was at galas and benefits, though, so she had everyone wrapped around her dainty finger.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Andy says, leaning down into Miranda’s space in a way she would never dare to unless they were pretending to be engages in front of all of her friends and family. Luckily for her, that was exactly the situation she was in.

She wandered over to where there was a bar, fully stocked as it usually was and the same company from town that did catering that her parents had been hiring since she was child. She asked for a gin and tonic for Miranda and a screwdriver for herself. She could pretend there was vodka in it later if she just wanted orange juice. It was a trick she learned from Nate after her 21st, but she didn’t really want to think about him.

“There you are,” Andy heard from behind her. She turned, sipping her drink and smiled at her father. He was a tall man, taller than Andy by several inches, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. It was the only feature that the twins had inherited from him, but Andy was the spitting image of her mother. Her smile fell when he didn’t smile return hers.

“What is she doing here, Andrea?” Andy frowned.

“Who?” She asked, purposely thick.

“You know who. That woman who you have done nothing but complain about for months. She’s suddenly here as your- your what? Your ticket?”

“Be careful, dad. You’re awfully close to offending me irreversibly,” she said darkly. They had the same temper which was maybe why the butted heads so often, but Andy didn’t care if she was concussed over this butt because she would not let someone speak like that about Miranda.

“Well, you know how it looks, Andrea. You know what people are saying-”

“-The only person who is saying that is you,” she hissed. “And you’re wrong, anyway,” Andy said simply.

“Am I? How long is this going to last then, hm.”

Andy wanted so much to have told him under happier circumstances. She wanted her father to be happy to see her, happy she was home, _happy she was happy_. But he was always like this. Always expecting her to follow in his image, with his career, with his lifestyle. She wanted to tell her father that the woman she loved loved her too and that they were going to get married because of that.

“I think ‘Til death do we part’ is the exact wording.” At her father’s blank look she put her drinks down and took her engagement ring from her right hand to her left, holding it up to show him. He looked furious.

“You’re not serious,” he scoffed.

“I’m deadly serious. She’s going to be my wife, and I don’t think it gets much more permanent than that.”

“When this, whatever it is you’re up to, blows up in your face” he said quietly, leaning in so they weren’t overheard, “I will tell you I told you so.”

“Whatever, Carlisle,” she said dismissively in the way he hated, grabbing the drinks and making her way back to Miranda’s side. Miranda took the drink with a polite “thank you, darling” that made Andy’s heart race, then looked at her hand and noticed the engagement ring.

“Andréa?”

“I’ll explain later,” she said quietly. Miranda nodded, conceding to her for now. Andy marvelled at how well she played the doting fiancée.

Andy and Miranda turned when a sharp tintinnabulation rang across the large room capturing everyone’s attention. Adelaide was stood, champagne glass in hand and teaspoon in the other. She had a bright smile, but Andy could see the strain in her eyes. She had probably already talked to her father. She saw her mother’s gesture to go over and held out her arm for Miranda again, fighting the stupid grin when the older woman accepted it again.

“Thank you for coming everyone,” Adelaide said. “Tonight was meant to just be a welcome home party for Andy and her lady,” Adelaide said with a pleased grin, cupping Andy’s cheek fondly. “But apparently there’s more good news,” she added. Andy turned to Miranda with a questioning smile. Miranda looked back serenely, and Andy hoped there was a universe out there where they were getting married because they loved each other.

“Miranda and I are engaged,” Andy said a little shyly. The applause was deafening though. Even sweeter than the obvious support from everyone else was Caroline and Cassidy flying at them both, nearly knocking their drinks out of their hands. Miranda seemed delighted by the near tackle, however, and handed Andy her drink so she could wrap her arms around then twins in a hug.

Andy was so screwed in that moment, seeing her little sisters, the most precious people in her life, held by the woman she was definitely in love with. _Dammit,_ she thought,_ that makes everything so much more complicated than it already is_.

“You’re going to be our big sister!”

“Another one!”

“Andy, can we have a little sister, too?” Andy laughed.

“That’s not up to me, sweet thing,” she said, moving to take a sip of her drink.

“What about a niece, then?” And then she was choking a little. Miranda smacked her once on the back and took her gin and tonic from her, taking an elegant sip.

“We’ll see,” she said to the girls. Andy would have choked again if she had taken a sip. Thank god for small miracles.

“Well, what’s the story there,” someone called from the crowd. Andy looked at Miranda.

“Yes, I’m wondering that myself,” Adelaide said aloud.

“Um, honey, you love to tell the story,” Andy says saccharinely at Miranda.

“You know I do,” Miranda says, a glint of sadism in her pretty blue eyes. Andy tries to backpedal but Miranda is already talking, saying how she had proposed in a hurry. How she had rushed to Harry Winston store and had spent over two hours looking for the perfect ring. How she drove the staff there mad with her pickiness, but she insisted that none of them would suit her Andréa. Andy was pretty sure she had stopped breathing. Was she going to pass out? Maybe.

“Then she got home, and I told her that I needed the best team at work and in life. And as far as I’m concerned, Andréa is the best of the best. So, I had to make her my wife,” she finished simply. Andy was staring at her like she’d never seen her before, like she had fallen from the sky, flung out of space, and landed before her as she was. She loved her. She _loved_ her. And she was not allowed to.

“That’s- That’s beautiful,” Adelaide choked out.

“It is,” Andy agreed.

“I hope our engagements are as romantic as that,” Caroline says from beside her mother.

“There’s no rush, ever,” her mother is fast to reassure. Andy is still staring at Miranda, and Miranda is staring back.

“My god are you two going to kiss or not,” some ass says in the crowd. Andy flushes and Miranda smirks, leaning in and kissing Andy lightly, lingering enough for Andy to taste the bitter gin on her mouth. It goes really well with her screwdriver, she thinks.

“That’s not a real ki”

“Kevin Donahue, I know where you live,” Andy called, stupid grin on her face as everyone laughed. Kevin had the grace to blush and grin boyishly back. He had been the girls’ age when she saw him last. She used to babysit the poor guy.

Miranda, in a move that nearly knocks Andy out with shock, leans up and kisses her again, garnering ‘awws’ from everyone around them (especially Adelaide). The night after that is blissful for Andy until it’s time to call it a night. Caroline and Cassidy had insisted that Andy alone tucked them into bed, so she kisses Miranda chastely on the cheek and escorts her little sisters back to the house, bullies them into cleaning (doing the bulk of it herself, much to her chagrin), and gets them dressed.

“Andy,” Caroline says sleepily from her side of the double bed the girls share.

“Yes, precious?”

“Are you and Miranda gonna be married forever?”

The question breaks her heart.

“I- Well, I sure hope so, Caroline. I really love her,” Andy whispered, kissing Caroline’s orange hair, then her forehead, doing the same for Cassidy, who had fallen asleep instantly when her head met her pillow.

“I like her lots,” Caroline said, barely lucid.

“I’m glad, precious,” she whispers. She puts away two more dresses before shutting the door behind her and heading to hers and Miranda’s room. Miranda isn’t there yet, having been caught by Adelaide before they left, which she is grateful for. She changes quickly, removes her makeup and brushes her hair, fighting tears all the while. She wipes at the few that had managed to fall, and applies her night time creams and lip balm, brushing her teeth. By the time she gets out, Miranda is dressed in her own pyjamas, silk and kind of flimsy, and Andy has to move to her suitcase and pack her jumpsuit away to hide her face and ignore the temptation to stare at Miranda. She hears the bathroom door shut and sighs in relief.

She climbs into bed and turns off her lamp, leaving Miranda’s on and falls into her thoughts. She knew she shouldn’t have fallen in love with Miranda when they were just boss and assistant, but now that they’re fake engaged to be fake married, it seems the least of her problems. She knew she was in love with the woman, but she hadn’t counted on her family (minus Carlisle, of course) falling in love with her too. She had seen the way her mother spoke to her, with a kindness she reserved for Sachses. She saw how the girls held onto every word she spoke (Christ, how Miranda hung onto every word the twins spoke) and felt uncertainty hit her like a truck.

She had two options as far as she saw it. She could call this whole charade off, she could tell Miranda that she would just go into law like her father had been hounding her to do since she was 12 (two birds one stone, after all). She could tell Miranda that she was sorry but she hoped she liked England. Could drop her at the airport and wish her well. Or, she thought, she could convince Miranda that they could be good together. She could spend that weekend trying to show Miranda that she could be someone to trust, someone that she could maybe love in years to come. She could try to make Miranda Priestly, queen of fashion, fall in love with a fashion incoherent Ohioan girl who came from money.

As Miranda settled in beside her gently, a wide space between them, she resolved to try. She’d try her very best and if it didn’t work, then she’d be content to know she hadn’t given up before she’d even tried.

“They love you,” she whispered. Rustling.

“Who?”

“The girls,” Andy replied. “My mom. You’re a hit.” Miranda snorted, and Andy rolled to face her. Miranda was on her back, her eyes closed, her mouth curled in a small, contented smile.

“They’re so different to you. Charming.”

“Hey,” she frowned, watching mesmerised as Miranda’s smile grew. “I can be charming.”

“I’ve seen nothing to support your claims.”

“Just you wait, Priestly,” she yawned, closing her eyes reluctantly. She felt Miranda turn her head, but couldn’t open her eyes.

“I will,” she heard whispered from the older woman. She fell to sleep planning how she was going to romance her fiancée.

Miranda had watched the younger woman for several minutes, trying to memorise the face, slack in sleep and youthful. Beautiful. She doubted herself, that what she was doing was really worth it. To see Adelaide’s disappointed face and Caroline and Cassidy’s teary eyes when the truth got out… But maybe, she schemed, maybe it didn’t have to be a lie? If Andréa and her did get married, and if they did fall in love… Well, Miranda lived on hope, and she hoped more than anything that she might fix her idiocy.

_But not now_, she thought falling to sleep._ In the morning, when things are brighter._


	3. Magic Moment, Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding gown, a sexually charged mishap and Miranda's favourite song: all contained in this update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this like a champ without the plan I wrote out like a week ago but it's early 2am and I'm so tired so all mistakes are mine! Please enjoy and also!!! Thank you all so much for the comments! You're all so sweet :)))

.oOo. CHAPTER THREE .oOo.

It was more borne of panic than awkwardness when Miranda and Andy scrambled to hold each other as their bedroom door burst open the next morning. They surely looked ridiculous, but Andy had only huffed a single laugh then moved so that Miranda was securely and comfortably lying against her chest. The twins, the reason for the door, no doubt, were already at the bed and climbing up to them. They were smiling like it was their tenth birthday, and looking expectantly at Miranda and Andy both.

“Good morning, children,” Andy said. “Anyone would think you were excited about something with the way you both carry on,” she teased. Miranda tutted and leaned forward and away from her, closer to the twins who grinning and doing their best to glare.

“Never mind her,” she said, “She’s always crabby in the morning.”

“We forgot,” Caroline said, sniffing at Andy and trying valiantly still not to smile.

“Good morning to you both,” Miranda smiled. Andy looked at her and felt her chest echo. The girls thanked her, then moved like lightning to attack Andy, poking her ribs and pinching her belly. They were roaring in laughter as she shrieked to get them off.

“Miranda!” She called, “Help!”

“Oh no,” she said, waving a finger from the safety of the other side of the bed. Her grin was evil. “You provoked them.”

“I yield! Good morning! I love you!” They stopped immediately and let her pant to catch her breath, looking over to Miranda to receive a wink and a thumbs up. Andy leaned forward and grabbed her sisters, kissing them both soundly on their heads and telling them again, good morning. They told her all the things they had hoped to get in their presents the for their birthday and what they were doing that day. Miranda looked at her in panic when Cassidy mentioned presents. Andy shook her head and smiled reassuringly. Miranda nodded.

Before Andy could marvel at how they communicated without speaking, Adelaide walked in with a tray of food while Carlisle followed behind with mugs and a coffee carafe. The eldest Sachs woman was wearing her silk pyjamas and her fluffy robe that Andy and the twins had gotten her two years before for her birthday. Her father wore a button down, slacks, socks and his best scowl. Andy’s mood soured just a little. The girls rolled off the bed (over Andy to her chagrin, apologising quickly to her as she got sharp elbows right in her organs).

She was pleased to see Miranda scoot closer to her again, so they were hip to hip. Andy basked in the warm pyjamas the older woman wore and how they warmed her own.

“What’s this,” Andy asked. “It’s not our birthday,” she joked. Adelaide, Caroline and Cassidy chuckled but Carlisle did not.

“Well,” Adelaide begins, placing the breakfast tray on Miranda’s bedside table, smiling kindly at the silver-headed woman. “We did some thinking last night, and we think that-”

“-Momma and daddy want you to get married tomorrow so we can share a party,” Cassidy interrupts loudly, grin wider than wide on her little freckled face.

“Uh,” Andy says intelligently, looking to Miranda to see her shake her head imperceptibly. “Momma, that’s really sweet but we-”

“We wanted it for our birthday,” Caroline interrupts this time. She has a small smile, smaller than her older twin’s. Andy sees it and knows that her littlest sister, who is more reserved than Cassidy, is hoping with her whole heart for this. Andy turns to Miranda, who must see the same, because she looks at Andy with such resignation that Andy doesn’t even have to try to convince her.

“Well,” Miranda says, as Andy stays silent. “We can hardly deny you your birthday wish, can we?” Cassidy celebrates with Adelaide, Carlisle’s scowl deepens, but Caroline asks again in a small voice, “Really?”

“Really,” Miranda says, her face softer than Andy has ever seen it, and she’s seen it pretty soft in the last day or so. Even more surprising is the way she turns to Andy, looks at her with that same resignation, and a little rigidness that Andy mourns. It’s ridiculous, she says to herself as Miranda sits closer in a show of affection for her family. It’s ridiculous that she feels like the one forcing Miranda into a marriage, when the opposite is true. Andy wasn’t even the one to suggest the impromptu wedding, and yet, she still feels at fault. She feels sorry, for herself and for Miranda. Mainly herself, though, as she leans her head on top of Miranda’s.

“Well, that means we’ve got another party to plan,” Adelaide says with not a hint of remorse. Andy rolls her eyes fondly. “The girls will have their party in the late afternoon, your wedding will be in the early afternoon, naturally, but I’ll need to head into town this morning to arrange most of the things for tomorrow.” Andy nods and opens her mouth to offer to go, the assistant in her ready and willing to get this job done.

“I’ll go with you,” Miranda says from beneath Andy’s chin.

“Great! You stay home then, Andy. No offence but Miranda will probably know better,” Adelaide says gently, but Andy agrees. Miranda has such an eye for events that she knows it will be quicker for her fiancée to go rather than her. The part of her that is stupidly, recklessly in love with her boss also whispers that this might be the only time Miranda gets married. If the woman wants to make sure it’s to her tastes, then Andy is happy to bow to her decisions. She has no doubt she will find it beautiful even still.

“She’s got the complex for it,” Carlisle says. Andy feels Miranda stiffen beneath her, feels her own hackles rising to snap at her father. But the girls are right there, chattering between them about something riveting and Andy doesn’t want to fight with their father in front of them. Not today. Not ever, really, but her dad is just too stubborn to not be an ass.

“Careful, dad,” she says simply. Carlisle says nothing, only places the carafe and mugs by the breakfast tray before leaning to kiss Adelaide on her cheek and leaving the room. Adelaide sighs once he’s gone.

“I’ll talk to him,” her mother says.

“No, I will. Just… Just later,” Andy says, tightening an arm around Miranda.

The girls and Adelaide vacate the room, and Miranda gets up, takes a few bites of the waffles that Adelaide had made for them, leaving the rest for Andy. She stood wordlessly and grabbed an outfit for the day then moved into the bathroom to change, leaving Andy in the bed, a little cold and a lot annoyed. The sooner she married Miranda, the sooner she could guarantee she wouldn’t be tossed back to England, and the sooner they could leave back to Manhattan, away from her father and all his desperation for Andy to become a lawyer like him.

She sighed and slumped back into the bed, covered her face and wished for the nth time that her dad was better at not saying something. Not likely, but she hoped none the less.

She got changed quickly, house clothes that were comfortable, and tied her hair into a neat bun on top of her head before tucking into the rest of the waffles. She had finished the last bit of strawberry when Miranda emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of sandalwood lotion and perfumed air. She was dressed in a clingy, off the shoulder blouse and an accordion skirt, her hair styled and her makeup subtle but complimenting her features perfectly.

“Man, you’re good at that,” she said, pouring a cup of coffee for Miranda, adding only a little cream and handing it over. Miranda drank it quickly, leaving a stain of lip gloss on the rim on the mug that Andy tried not to stare at.

“When you’ve been doing it as long as I have, you’ll be good at it, too,” she said, moving to grab one of the bags she had brought with her. She placed her gloss, her phone and her wallet into it, securing it on her shoulder. She looked at Andy who was in flowy pants, black, and a simply blue shirt that she had tucked into the waistband of her trousers. Miranda was silent for a moment, the charged quietness of the room lending a certain weight to her next words.

“Don’t fight with him for my sake,” she said. It might’ve sounded like an order if Miranda hadn’t looked down and away from the brunette. Andy wondered if Miranda was feeling guilty for her father’s actions.

“If he wasn’t being as ass about you then he’d’ve found another reason. But don’t worry,” Andy said, hoping for some levity, “we’ll still have a place to stay tonight.”

“You know best,” Miranda said, walking out of the room. Andy watched her go and wondered if she could get that in writing but supposed not. She heard her sisters and mother all gabbing loudly in the foyer, then heard the front door slam shut. Andy sighed and grabbed the tray of empty plates, stacked the mugs on it and made room for the carafe, too, before carrying it to the kitchen.

She was relieved to see more dishes, no doubt from the rest of her family’s breakfast. She rolled up her sleeves and ran the tap, filling the sink and beginning to clean. She cleaned the whole kitchen, then moved to the dining room, wiping every surface and even cleaning out the fridge (which was as spotless as her mother liked to keep it). It was mid-morning by the time she had finished, and admitted that she couldn’t procrastinate any further than she already had. She went off in search of her father, ready enough to have the conflict he always managed to have with her.

She looked all over the house, only noticing in her father’s study that he was far out in the field behind the house with a golf club and a pile of bright yellow golf balls. Andy sighed and made her way out to him. She waited for a while off to his left, sitting on the log seat, watching. She knew he knew she was there, but waited until he deigned to look at her. She was beginning to see the next phase of age settle into his face. His hair was more silver than it had been last time she saw him. His skin was starting to wrinkle and sag in more places, but he still looked the same to her. When he finally stopped hitting golf balls out into the open field, he turned to her, golf ball in hand.

“Your mother got these for me. Eco balls. They decompose into the soil, or something,” he said awkwardly. She nodded, feigning interest. He sighed.

“Look, Andy. I know I’m hard on you, but you understand where I’m coming from don’t you?” Andy stood, putting her hands in the pockets of her trousers.

“I understand it,” she said, “But that’s different to accepting it.”

“You left here the minute you graduated. Off to college, which was great,” he defended, “but it was to Northwestern, and not Stanford. I thought it was a passing fancy, this journalism thing.”

“It’s not.”

“You were accepted to Stanford. You were going to be a lawyer, but instead you fell in love with a boy out at Chicago, and then you moved to New York. You’re not taking your responsibilities seriously, Andy. You haven’t been for a decade,” he said frustratedly. He was looking at her now, his brow furrowed and his lips curled in distaste.

“What responsibilities?” She asked incredulously. “To who? To what?”

“To me,” he emphasised. “I want to retire, Andy, but I can’t until you wake up to yourself,” he said bitterly, pointing a finger at her.

“Then retire,” she snapped. “No one’s stopping you but you!”

“I want you to take over the firm!”

“_I_ don’t want that!”

“What, you want a forty year old woman who used to be your boss,” he mocked. “You want a job in the city writing for a little newspaper, across the country from your family? You want to do what _you_ want to do!”

“Yeah,” Andy returned, heat in her tone and eyes. She took her hands out of her pockets and squared her shoulders. “Yeah, I want Miranda and I want to write for a newspaper or a magazine and I want it in New York. They make me happy, dad. Isn’t that _enough_ for you? Enough to know your daughter is _happy_?”

Her father shook his head in disappointment.

“I want my daughter to take herself seriously,” he said, holding out his hand, “But if that makes you happy…”

She looked at his hand, clenched her fists, and stormed away from him. She couldn’t even remember making it to her bedroom, but she was changing when she saw anything apart from red again. She changed into a sports bra and shorts, a tank top and sneakers. She grabbed her Bluetooth earphones (a gift from her sisters) and her phone and began to blast her workout playlist.

She wanted to cry she was so angry. So angry that her father couldn’t just pretend to be proud of her, couldn’t fake his placidness when she was home visiting. She would come more often but he was always like that, always belittling and bullying her. He once said it was the same as what her boss did to her (back when Miranda was just her boss), but it was so, so different. Miranda wasn’t family back then. She wasn’t someone Andy truly wanted to be proud of her (though it was a really nice thought, still is).

She was hacking away at the logs in the firewood pile near the patio next to the house when she blinked her tears away. The axe in her hand was heavy, but she had grown up chopping wood, found a peace in the solid _thwack_ of the wood splitting and the _whoosh_ of the axe through the air. She couldn’t hear it this time, of course, but she still felt the familiar muscles work to split the wood down the middle. It was therapeutic, and in her rage, her seething distaste for her father, it was exactly what she needed.

Miranda, across town, was glad she had decided to volunteer for the wedding preparations. The twins were endearing, showing her around the little town centre as they strolled around, stopping occasionally at a few shops. The florist had been Miranda’s favourite. She had smirked as she decided on purple freesias for hers and Andréa’s bouquets, looking forward to seeing the brunette flounder when she caught sight of them. The girls had also suggested a few flowers for the other arrangements, ones for the reception that she and Andréa would be sharing with the girls. They had an eye, she decided once they’d decided on a few flowers.

Adelaide had been busy calling around on her phone, letting a few specific people know of the wedding the next afternoon, and asking those people to let everyone else know. Miranda intuited that Andréa got her organisational skills from her mother once all the calls were made and she was guided to a cake shop.

“No white chocolate,” was Miranda’s only stipulation, which the shop owner and Adelaide balked at but took in stride. Perhaps Miranda was used to Andréa knowing everything about her that she didn’t elaborate on why. Andréa knew white chocolate gave her headaches, and dammit, she didn’t want a headache on her first and probably only wedding day. The thought gave her butterflies which she batted down with a fierceness that was only half-hearted. How easy it was, she pondered, to grow… _fond_ of someone when they showcased tenderness to their family. Miranda had not been prepared for Andréa to be so affectionate in front of her, but she was privately grateful for the transparency.

“Will you help us pick a flavour,” Cassidy asked Miranda. The older woman nodded with a smile, trying to rein in her own tenderness for twin redheads specifically. She felt guilt eat away at her every time they showed an interest in her. What would they think of her if they knew that she had hijacked Andréa’s life for her own sake? What would Adelaide think? It didn’t bear to think on it too long, she resolved, knowing that she would think herself in circles about it later that night.

The girls decided on carrot cake after Miranda hesitantly admitted to it being her favourite flavour.

“You don’t have to choose that one,” she told them both.

“You chose chocolate for your wedding cake because it’s Andy’s favourite, though,” Caroline said, the quieter of the two Miranda had noticed.

“Well, yes, but if she’s not here to make any decisions then she should at least have her favourite flavour of cake,” Miranda argued. She didn’t stop to think on how she knew chocolate was Andréa’s favourite. She just knew.

“Well, chocolate’s our favourite, too, and we really like carrot cake, so we’ll get that one and you can your favourite cake,” Cassidy butted in. She sounded so sure that Miranda didn’t argue again. Instead she squeezed their shoulders, not surprised at their generosity considering she knew Andréa, but moved none the less by the gesture.

“That’s very kind of you both,” she said hoarsely. They grinned up at her and Adelaide, from the corner of her eyes, smiled at the three of them.

_This_, Miranda thought. _This is what I had forgotten._ She had forgotten what it was to be part of a unit, part of a family. When she wanted something she got it, she didn’t have to sacrifice anything to get it, and while that was convenient and had suited her just fine for many years, it had become meaningless. What was receiving without giving? She had not been given anything in a long time, and though it was as simple as a cake flavour on her wedding day, Miranda was nearly moved to tears.

Once the order was placed, the shop keeper assuring Adelaide no less than seven times that it would be ready, they moved on to the next shop. And on and on it went until they stopped for lunch and ate. The girls wanted ice cream and Adelaide was useless against their pleading so ice cream they got. Miranda had opted for a sample of the chocolate-peanut butter flavour but declined getting a scoop. And on they shopped. When they stopped in front of a seamstress’ shop was when Miranda got nervous.

“I called ahead, but if you don’t like it then we’ll find something else, okay?” Adelaide said before they went in. Miranda nodded and followed in after the girls, hearing vaguely the bell above her ring, announcing their entrance. The shop was not nearly what one could consider modern by any stretch of the imagination. It was dark wood on the inside and cluttered on every surface there was. There was no one behind the counter, but Miranda could hear shuffling.

“Grandma!” The twins called as a small, brunette woman hobbled from behind a curtain behind the counter. Her face was lined with age, her body hunched, and every other strand of her hair was grey, giving way only slightly to the dark brown it obviously used to be. The girls ran over to her, hugging her with zest but mindful of her slight frame. Miranda stood back as Adelaide moved in next for a hug.

“Momma, this is Miranda, Andy’s girl,” Adelaide introduced. Miranda might have been taken aback by being called ‘girl’ at the age of forty-one, but she didn’t, especially not as a first impression to Andréa’s grandmother. “Hello,” she said, waving once then cringing at her awkwardness. The old woman laughed at her and stepped forward and pulled her in for a tight hug, one she returned out of shock.

“You’ll do, girlie,” the woman crowed. “I’m Audrey, but you can call me Grandma.”

“I- um. Sure,” she said.

“Come with me, girlies. We’ve got work to do.”

They followed her behind the curtain she had appeared from which led to a sewing room, filled with mannequins and measuring tapes and even more clutter than outside. Miranda was thrust back into her days when she had sewn at a boutique in London after school and on weekends for money. It had been her first job, and her favourite, second only to being the editor of _Runway_. Audrey brought out a garment bag and laid it on a table unzipping it and revealing a champagne dress.

“I haven’t seen this in a long time,” Audrey said, revealing a vintage gown that had in intricacy that Miranda did not often see in fashion anymore. It was beautiful, even if it was dated. That’s what made it vintage, she supposed. Miranda was handed the gown in a flash and told to get changed by a no nonsense Audrey. She didn’t dare argue, even if she was the supposed Head Bitch in Charge. She knew not to argue with the grandmother.

The dress was obviously not fitted to her slender frame, dropping at her chest and belly and hips, but she walked out of the small changing room regardless and stood on the raised flooring that Audrey told her to step up onto.

“It was my grandmother’s wedding dress,” Audrey explained as she worked, placing pins in the fabric with enough precision to not prick at Miranda’s skin. “My mother wore it to her wedding, I wore it to mine and Adelaide to hers. It’s up to you, of course, but it’s a tradition to wear it,” she said. Miranda swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at the gown, gathering some of the liquid skirt in her hands and watching as she let it go rippling beautifully.

“I’d be honoured,” she managed after a beat. The girls cheered and told her how pretty she looked, Adelaide clapped once and smiled at her. Audrey nodded to her as though she had passed some sort of test, and continued to alter the dress.

“Alright, off you all go. I need to get started on this so it’ll be done for tomorrow. I’ll be over in the morning to drop it off.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said simply but genuinely. Audrey nodded again and smiled at her.

“You’ll do, girlie,” she said again before waving them out of the shop. They had barely taken a step when Adelaide linked her arm with Miranda’s.

“Do you like it enough to wear it tomorrow?” Miranda grinned, watching the girls in front of them as they walked hand in hand along the sidewalk.

“Adelaide, I look at dresses and skirts and shirts and pants all day long. I have never wanted to wear something so much as that dress,” she said, looking the woman in the eyes. She meant it, she knew she did. And she wanted Adelaide to know that marrying her daughter was something she looked forward to with bated breath, but she needed to find a way to tell Andréa that, too. Her fiancée of all people needed to know that she wanted to marry her. _God, we did everything so backwards_, she muses as Adelaide squeezes her arm.

“Where to next, momma?”

“Well…”

It was late afternoon when they had covered all of what they needed. Some simple decorations and a booking for a team of people to set up the barn later and they were headed home, finally. Miranda could spend all day on her feet, but she was exhausted, looking forward to a hot shower. Miranda was listening to Caroline and Cassidy tell her a fantastical story from the backseat when she heard Adelaide hiss a curse, pulling up quickly. Miranda turned to look at what she had sworn about and nearly swallowed her tongue.

Andréa was dressed in a tank top, sports bra visible through the sweat, and shorts. She was chopping wood with the surety of an expert, and as Miranda admired the way she brought down the axe, she realised her fiancée might actually be an expert. She was flushed and concentrated, her muscles rippling with her efforts. Miranda had known that Andréa was attractive, she had eyes, but she had not known the extent of her physical prowess, of which she had much. It seemed to be a distressing picture to Adelaide, however, who told the girls to go inside and get changed for a quick dinner. They nodded and were off like a shot.

“I’m going to lose my goddam mind,” Adelaide hissed, rushing out of the car leaving Miranda to follow, and into the house. Miranda took one last look at Andréa as she passed, the brunette not taking any notice of her thank god.

“…Hacking away at the pile of firewood? Carl, I swear to god,” Miranda overheard as she moved to the stairs, pausing to listen more, even if her good manners told her not to.

“…Told her what she refuses to understand…”

“…Not your little girl anymore! She’s going to be someone’s wife and whether it’s her job or her fiancée that you think is keeping her from home, you have no place…”

“…Needs to see reason!”

“…You need to understand that _you_ are the one keeping her away, and I will not have it, Carl… my baby…”

Miranda heard enough, and headed upstairs, feeling a little guilty for eaves dropping but not regretting it. Carlisle was lucky that she wished to remain in relatively good standing with him, or she would’ve given him a piece of her sharp mind. The way he belittled Andréa was appalling to her, and, she realised guiltily, no better than what she had done in the past. She would work on never doing it again, she resolved, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom to shower.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles and the steam around her was enough to mask the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing. When she shut off the water and grabbed her towel, she was busy drying herself and her hair, not willing to drip all over the floors of the bedroom where Andréa might slip. She was clumsy enough when possessed by the mood. She had just opened the door to the bathroom, towel secured around her and running her hand through her fingers when she was met by a brick wall.

She fell backwards, the brick wall landing on top of her. She opened her eyes to see it was actually Andréa, who was dressed in only her sports bra and shorts, sweat soaking her hair done in a ponytail and falling over her shoulder to tickle at Miranda’s own. Even through the towel, Miranda could feel Andréa’s breasts on hers, her hips pressing into hers, her wide brown eyes staring down into her, equally wide, blue eyes. Just another second passed before her brain booted up again.

“Off!”

Andy scrambled off her, apologising profusely, fingers brushing over her shoulders and elbows, looking her over for scratches or bruises. She was definitely unaware to the effect she had on Miranda by insisting on the teasing strokes of skin against hers. She let it happen for a moment more then batted her away with her right hand while her left kept her towel secure.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Miranda said, referring to her exiting the bathroom. Andréa only pointed to the discarded earphones beside them, nodding once in understanding. She knew her cheeks were coloured. Not from her own immodest state of dress, but from Andréa’s, who was certainly much more beautiful than Miranda had ever been able to give her credit while remaining professional.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt? I can get-”

“Stop talking,” she said abruptly. Andréa snapped her mouth shut immediately, and while usually that pleased her (in a work setting, of course), just then it made her feel terribly. “I’m fine,” she reassured gently. Andréa nodded, looking her over once more then widening her eyes.

“You’re only in a towel,” she squeaked. Miranda fought an amused smile.

“Yes, and you are only in a bra and shorts,” she returned. Andréa squeaked again and Miranda laughed at her. “Get in the shower,” she ordered. “You smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Hey!”

“It’s true, now go!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Cheeky,” Miranda said as the bathroom door shut. She changed quickly, feeling an awkwardness settle around her as time wore on. She dressed for dinner, did her hair and light makeup, was ready by the time Andréa got out of the bathroom, fully dressed though Miranda didn’t see her take clothes in the bathroom.

“Still no bruises?”

And like that, all her tension, all her awkwardness just… _went_. Andréa was someone she had known a long while now. She had seen Miranda cry in Paris, had come to her rescue when Irv was being a pain, had supported her in her work by doing her own job so well… It was an easy thing for Miranda to care for Andréa because, well, Andréa was easy to like, easy to love. But Miranda wasn’t, wasn’t easy to be around, wasn’t easy to care for, and Andréa did even that flawlessly. She mourned even deeper her selfishness in slotting herself into Andréa’s like, but couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She had forgotten what it was like to be around people that weren’t on her payroll. It was so achingly nice.

“No bruises, darling,” she said, walking past Andréa and out of the room. She didn’t reach for her hand like wanted to, but as Andréa and she walked down the stairs to the dining room side by side, Miranda felt close anyway.

Dinner was fast and simple, the twins too tired to talk much so it was quiet also. They were contented with hugs goodnight after they finished eating, Adelaide ordering them to sleep as night settled. Adelaide waved Andy and Miranda off just after, not even pretending to listen to their protests to help clean up. Neither argued, both tired after trying days for them both. They climbed the stairs and changed in different areas of the room into pyjamas. Crawling into bed was like a dream.

As they settled, so too did a peace that Miranda had found more and more common with Andréa. She couldn’t quite fall asleep at that moment, so resigned to just laying on her back and staring at the ceiling. Andréa did the same beside her, both breathing deeply, calmly.

“What’s your favourite song?”

Miranda wasn’t even surprised by the question.

“Hooked On A Feeling,” she answered confidently. Andréa hummed.

“How’s it go?”

Miranda took a deep breath and hid away her guarded exterior. It was just Andréa, she coaxed herself.

“I can’t stop this feeling,” she sang softly, “deep inside of me.”

“Oh my god,” Andréa giggled. Miranda was about to be offended when Andréa rolled and turned to her. “It’s the ooga chaka one!” she said delightedly. Miranda smiled.

“I suppose it is,” she agreed.

“Why is that one your favourite?”

“I thought you knew all of this,” Miranda quipped. Andréa rolled her eyes.

“This is the only one I didn’t know. I’ve been thinking about it since the plane. But stop stalling.”

“Fine,” she huffed, though she wasn’t annoyed. “It’s funny, how it begins, that is. But then it’s actually very sweet when you listen to the lyrics. I just like it,” Miranda explained. Andréa smiled at her, looking, just looking at her. She felt her breath catch just slightly.

“What’s yours?” she asked, hoping to distract herself.

“Hmm… This Magic Moment,” Andréa replied. Miranda knew it of course, everyone knew it.

“How’s it go,” she parroted. Andy smiled at her, could see right through her she knew.

“This magic moment,” she sang, Miranda let her eyes close for just a moment, “while your lips are close to mine…”

“I like that one,” she whispered.

“Me too…”

Andréa kissed her. Gently, so gently and sweetly. Miranda kissed her back just as gently, pulling back after a moment but not pulling away.

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” Miranda whispered.

“We are,” Andréa replied, her tone light.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda said suddenly, looking at her fiancée. At the woman who was so easy for her to love.

“I know,” she said. “I know, but you don’t need to be. Not at all. Okay?”

Miranda remained sceptical.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to kiss you again, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, accepting another kiss, and then another after that, and one more before Andréa shuffled as close as she could and shut her eyes. Miranda followed suit, shifting closer to the heat Andréa exuded. She was getting married the next day to the kindest creature, and though she was excited, she was also deeply ashamed.

“’M excited to marry you,” her fiancée mumbled sleepily.

“Me too,” she said as she fell asleep.

Magic moment, indeed.


	4. All the Time in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She gets the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been about two months but here's the final chapter. This is dedicated to Savannah who begged me to update in between singing Country Roads with me the other day. Hope you all enjoy :)))

.oOo. CHAPTER FOUR .oOo.

The next morning was not nearly as relaxing as the others had been when Miranda and Andy woke. The sun was barely in the sky when they were woken by Cassidy and Caroline knocking at their door like the previous morning, both excited about the wedding and their birthday.

“We’re so excited!”

“Thank you,” Caroline said, just as excited as her twin but far more appropriately volumed for the early hour.

“You’re welcome, baby,” Andy said, as Miranda smiled sleepily at her. The twins, as it turned out, were perfect for waking them up quickly with their fast chatter and excitement. Cassidy was very loud, too, which Andy had to scold her for no more than thrice. Their relaxing into being awake was short live however when Adelaide came in to corral them into action telling them to get showers and to eat a quick breakfast. They did as bid, and when Adelaide told them they needed to run into town, they wasted no time, driving in Andy’s mother’s manual.

In all her naivete, the naivete that she thought she had shed years ago, Miranda was sure that nothing could ruin her day. She was getting married, and though it was from less than respectable beginnings, she was glad, _beyond_ glad, that she had the opportunity to make it into a relationship that would last. Andréa seemed to feel the same, holding her hand and pulling her along with a smile as wide as New York.

“Mom said we need to pick up the fabric for the tables, and a packet of nails,” Andréa read on her phone.

“What do they need nails for?”

“Probably the ladder,” Andréa said, which made absolutely no sense. They were rushing to the general store before Miranda could remember to ask further.

“I’ll get the nails, and you pick up the fabric?” Andréa asked, gesturing to the fabric store that was just down the road.

“I’ll hurry,” she said, squeezing the hand in her own. She turned and made her way to the store, smiling shallowly at people who seemed to recognise her. It was a fast interaction with the store employee, thank god. Apparently, Adelaide was something of a figure in the town because not once had Miranda seen her stumble into any issues with planning the wedding.

“Thank you,” she said to the younger man.

“You’re welcome, and congratulations,” he said with a smile. She nodded and headed back to the general store, surprised when Andréa wasn’t waiting outside for her, so they could head back. She went inside, and just out of sight, she could hear her fiancée’s laughter. She moved closer to the sound, and there was Andréa, holding a packet of nails and talking to a young man with dark blond hair and a charming, if smarmy smile in the hardware aisle of the small shop.

“There she is,” Andréa said, holding out her hand. Miranda smiled, again, shallowly, to the stranger and grasped Andréa’s hand in hers tighter than she usually would.

“Here I am,” she said dryly, raising a brow at the man. “And you are?”

“Christian, an old friend of mine,” Andréa said. “He’s here helping his grandmother refurbish an antique dining table.” It sounded like rubbish, but Miranda didn’t say so.

“Come on, Andy, we were more than friends,” he said in what he probably thought was an inviting way. It made Miranda’s skin prickle.

“Yeah, well, we’re friends now,” the brunette said. Miranda’s lips pursed.

“Yeah,” Christian said with no small amount of disappointment in his tone. “Bad timing was all,” he said to Miranda. “She was busy with her new job in New York and didn’t really have any free time.” Miranda felt like she had been punched.

“We have to get back now, Darling,” she said. She hoped she didn’t sound as winded as she felt.

“Of course,” Andréa said. “See ya ‘round, Christian.” And then they were paying for nails and moving out of the general store and back to where the car was parked. Andréa was chattering away about something, but had opened the driver’s door to pop the trunk. Miranda moved into the seat and started the car, startling Andy out of her rambling. “Hey!” she called.

“Get in,” Miranda ordered. Andy did. Miranda put her seatbelt on and waited for Andréa to do so as well, before she pulled out of the parking spot and started driving. It was faster than was entirely legal, she imagined, by the way Andy was gripping the handle.

“What’s going on,” Andréa demanded. “Slow down, Miranda,” she said a moment later.

“I…” She saw Andréa holding the front of the glove box with discomfort and slowed immediately, pulling over on the side of the road, halfway home to their wedding. They were silent for several moments, measured only by the ticking of the indicator.

“I can’t… I-”

“-What’s wrong? You were fine until we got in the car,” Andréa said gently, no longer looking as though she might be killed in a road accident at any moment. Miranda felt her gut clench in a bitter mix of guilt and sadness and anger.

“It’s not fair to you,” she managed to articulate, finally. “It’s not fair that you haven’t been home in so long because of me, and that your father is upset at you and that you’re marrying me because I forced you to! If you didn’t work for me then you might be engaged to Christian or someone more appropriate, but you _aren’t_,” Miranda said, looking at Andréa with a crumpled face and sorry eyes. “And it’s my fault,” she mourned. She blamed her high emotions on the situation, as usually she was not so unsure about things. Usually she was not engaged to her assistant, though.

Andréa looked at her for a long moment, taking in her features and her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. She unfastened her seatbelt then turned to Miranda, holding her hands out, palms up. Miranda looked down at them, seeing the ring she had given Andréa clinging selfishly to her finger. She grasped them just as selfishly.

“We never talked about this, did we?” Andréa asked, though Miranda knew it to be rhetorical. “Did I ever tell you that I had a crush on you when we worked together?” Miranda’s eyes snapped to brown ones, incredulous.

“I would have remembered if you had told me _that_,” she chastised. Andréa huffed a little laugh and stroked her knuckles with her thumbs.

“Well, I did, and then your visa thing happened and I was a little mad because you were an ass-”

“-_Andréa_!-“

“And then you gave me my ring,” Andréa continued, not cowed but Miranda’s reprimand. “And I really liked it but I didn’t want to, and I still really liked you, and then this weekend happened and… Marrying you is my decision now, not a favour that I’m keeping to you.” Miranda swallowed and looked away from the probing gaze of her once assistant, now fiancée.

“You think that, because of your _crush_,” Miranda tried to argue.

“No,” was the firm response. Firmer than anything she had heard Andréa say. “No, it’s not that. We’re going to get married today, Miranda because we care for one another, and in time we will be in love, too. Okay?”

“A year,” she tried feebly to remind, “I said that after a year we could-”

“Yeah, well, fuck the year. We’re getting married and not for a year, or any predetermined amount of time. Got it?”

“When did you get so bossy?” Miranda laughed. It sounded suspiciously like a sob, but Andréa had the grace not to comment on that.

“My wife-to-be is a bad influence on me,” she joked. Miranda shook her head and squeezed the hands holding hers. She saw Andréa moving from the corner of her eye and looked in time to be kissed gently. “Drive us home, Miranda, or my mother will skin us.”

Miranda nodded, and both moved to refasten their seatbelts. Before she drove back onto the road, Miranda said to Andréa, “If you tell anyone about my episode just now I’ll tell your mother that you don’t like her casserole.” Andréa gawked at her in disbelief, and only once they were on the road again did she laugh. Miranda smiled, too, but refused to show it. She had a reputation, after all.

.oOo.

Adelaide reprimanded them for a short time on their return but then sent them both away to get ready. The wedding itself wouldn’t start until one, where there would be a short ceremony, and then lunch (and cake, as the twins kept reminding everyone). Andréa was getting dressed into a lacy, white body-suit when there was a knock at her door. She was unzipped, and her hair was slightly damp and frizzy from the heat protectant, so it could be straightened, but she answered it anyway. One of her younger cousins, Caleb, was there to tell her that Uncle Carl wanted her to get Miranda and meet him in his office ASAP. Andy thanked her cousin, who she knew was very protective of Caroline and Cassidy, and made her way to the guest room where Miranda was getting ready.

“Who is it,” one of her aunts said after she knocked.

“It’s Andy, Dad needs Miranda and I,” she said, hoping that her father wasn’t about to pull something stupid. She had a bad feeling, though.

Miranda was there was then door opened, in a long dressing gown with curlers in her hair and the beginning of her eye makeup on her face. Andy smiled and apologised for the interruption.

“It’s fine,” Miranda said, “they were about to ask about children,” she said with a grimace. Andy frowned. They made their way to her father’s office, both speaking about how the ceremony would go, then what time they’d need to book their flights for the next day. They were ushered into her father’s office by Carlisle, who seemed paranoid, and Andy couldn’t help the instinct to step closer to Miranda, so she didn’t. They both soon realised they were not alone.

There, standing in the corner and looking at Carlisle’s collection of decanters, was Carl Walter. Andy’s furious eyes moved to her father immediately.

“Not a word about this to you mother,” Carlisle hissed at her.

“Andy, Miranda, so good to see you both,” the smug voice belonging to Mr Walter said.

“Can’t say the same,” Andy gritted. “What do you want?” she said shortly. Miranda’s hand moved into hers.

“I’m here to offer you an out,” he said, which confused Andy enough to be distracted from her anger for a moment.

“What?”

“I’m here, with my trusty tape recorder, to get a confession from you that this whole wedding is a sham to except Miranda from the consequences of violating her visa conditions. You do that, and I proceed to prosecute only Miranda. She will be deported and disallowed to enter the United States again and you will not be charged with what I am certain is visa fraud. So?”

Andy was in some sort of daze of anger, disbelief and a now familiar sense of protectiveness over Miranda, who had shrunk away slightly from Andy. She gripped her fiancée’s hand tightly, coaxing her back to her side and jutting her chin out at her father first, then Mr Walter second.

“No.”

“Andy, don’t be ridiculous,” her father said immediately. He looked thunderous.

“I’m not,” she hissed. “No, I will not do that,” she said to her father, then to Mr Walter, “I will be marrying Miranda today, and we will go to your interview when we return to New York and Miranda will continue to live her life in America with me as her wife.”

“Andréa,” Miranda whispered, and Andy knew she was going to side with her dad, even after their talk earlier.

“No,” she said again. “We have to get ready,” she said to the men, pulling Miranda behind her as she stormed back to her room.

“Andréa,” Miranda tried again as they entered the empty guest room. “Darling-” she tried to say, but then Andy was kissing her. She pulled Miranda to her, holding her face in one hand and sliding the other to curl around her waist.

“Don’t say anything stupid,” she said when she pulled back, looking Miranda in the eyes. “That thing that just happened was stupid, and we’re not stupid, okay?”

Miranda looked like she was thinking hard, and that made Andy nervous, so she kissed her again, softly this time and less upset.

“If you do something reckless you’ll break my heart and my trust. Don’t do it,” she ordered, which would be the first and last time she would ever have to do that.

“I won’t,” Miranda promised, which was good enough for Andy.

“My aunts will be wondering where you are,” she said, letting the petite woman out of her arms. “Mom will be here soon too to help with getting ready…”

“I’ll see you soon,” Miranda said kissing Andy lightly before she walked out of the room, confidence in her step, which was the reason Andy let go of her anxieties. She knew that Miranda felt guilty, and she knew that even the smartest people like Miranda would be prone to recklessness through their guilt. She was endlessly relieved to have nipped that line of thinking in the bud, however.

“Sorry I’m late,” her mother said as she entered, a bag of clips and hair sprays and flowers in her arms. When she turned to Andy, who was still not zipped up and had fluffy hair from blow-drying, she began to tear up, making grabby hands at Andy who moved in to hug her crying mother.

“My baby is all grown up,” she sniffed. Andy chuckled and hugged her mom tighter, glad that they would have this time together before she was married.

“Still your baby,” she reassured. It was enough for Adelaide to pull herself together and begin clipping her hair up and straightening it, then curling it into an updo that Andy had conceded the night before was beautiful.

“Thank you for letting me have this,” Adelaide said suddenly. “I know that you don’t like coming here as much because your father gives you a hard time, but I’m glad that you did. I’m glad that you brought Miranda, too. It’s a relief to know that someone else nearer to you has your best interest in mind,” she said, tearfully again at the end. “I’m glad you’ll be taken care of, baby.”

“Me too,” she said, because she knew that even when (definitely when) they fought or argued, Miranda and she would be okay. She would make sure of it.

“Your hair’s done,” her mother said some minutes later. It had a few small white flowers weaved into the back.

“It’s beautiful, Momma, thank you,” she said, hugging her mom again. She was feeling clingy knowing that she’d be married, and upset at the senseless betrayal from her father, who she was beginning to realise would never approve of her, even if she had taken Mr Walter’s olive branch.

Andy did her own makeup, but her mother stayed so they could spend more time together. Before long, however, there was a knock at the that preceded twin terrors running into the room dressed and ready with their hair in braids. They informed their mother that the lady who would be marrying Andy and Miranda had arrived and was mingling, and that Andy needed to be down at the barn in a few minutes. Andy nodded, kissing her mother’s cheek, then her sisters’ before applying some shiny lip gloss that tasted like candy.

Carrie was the aunt of one of her high school friends and the only person who Andy knew of that would perform a same-sex marriage. She was tall and broad at her shoulders and had short hair and a sleeve of tattoos on her upper arm. Her wife had been invited too and was a perfectly dainty looking woman with nothing but praise for their home. Andy and she mingled while Adelaide and Carrie talked about the ceremony. It was when the guests were arriving and taking their seats that Andy’s hands began shaking.

“Don’t worry,” Nadia began, “I was the same when I married Carrie, but there’s never a reason to be nervous,” she said softly, looking to Carrie with such devotion that Andy felt like she was intruding at her own wedding. She smiled and thanked the petite woman, who moved shortly after to sit at her seat in a middle row. Her mother stroked her cheek before sitting and her father, who had arrived quietly, looked at her with warring frustration and pride. A few rows behind him sat Mr Walter, with a smug grin. Andy didn’t look at either of them again for the whole ceremony.

When soft music began to play and everyone turned to the rear of the barn, Andy’s heart leapt to her throat and her breath seemed to stall in her chest, because there, in a clingy, silken gown with a forelock over her eyes and bracketed by redheaded twins, was Miranda. She walked slowly, as though allowing everyone to become accustomed to her presence and moved with such grace that Andy thought she might be standing on a skateboard and being pushed by the twins. The thought made her choke a laugh as her smile overwhelmed her face. She tried not to let her tears fall, but they did anyway.

“You’ll ruin your makeup,” were Miranda’s first words to her as she arrived at the altar. Andy simply grasped her hands and squeezed, delighting as Miranda squeezed back.

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed. Miranda smiled at her, and the sight of her mouth wide like that, her eyes creased… Andy was sure she was in love. A strange thought to have at her own wedding, but true nonetheless. She was in love with Miranda Priestly and was about to become her wife. _Wow_.

Carrie spoke at length about how love was as natural as breathing, and how that’s why people loved so wholly and other sentimental things. They were pretty words, Andy thought, but they weren’t as important as looking at her fiancée, at the little grin Miranda was wearing, the same one she wore when something went to plan at _Runway_, but softer. Miranda was softer everywhere now, Andy realised. All she needed was for people to include her, to decide to have her around, and she became this beautiful, happy woman who braided eleven-year olds’ hair and sang the ooga chaka song to her fiancée. What a magic moment.

“I do,” Andy said, chiming in in time to say the most important part.

“I do,” Miranda echoed. And then, with permission and a slight wink from Carrie, Andy kissed her wife. She wrapped her arms around the shorter woman, feeling the warm silk and the slight arch of Miranda’s back as her arms wrapped around Andy’s neck. It was a perfect moment, and nothing, not unreasonable fathers or vindictive visa officers could spoil it.

“Andréa,” Miranda whispered against her lips, “We are still in front of all your friends and family.”

“Got carried away,” she whispered back, pecking her wife’s (!) lips once more before pulling back to see people clapping and talking amongst themselves. Her mother was crying, naturally, and her sisters were talking animatedly at her father, who had the grace to seem excited too. “Hungry?” she asked Miranda who shrugged but followed her over to her family, hand in hand as was their custom now.

“Andy!” her sisters said, running over in their little dresses and asking if they walked with Miranda okay.

“You both did an amazing job,” Andy praised honestly, “And you both look so beautiful! We have to get lots of photos,” she added, to which the girls agreed to.

“Thank you for walking with me,” Miranda said to them, cradling the backs of their heads when they moved to hug her, quiet “you’re welcomes” being mumbled into her shoulders. Adelaide hurried them all along to the outdoor area where the reception would be, talking with Miranda about how beautiful everything was, and did she think there was enough food for everyone? And how did she like Carrie? Andy sighed when the twins ran to catch up, leaving her to lag behind with her father.

“Andy,” he began. She turned to him, as tall as him in her heels.

“Not today,” she said. “You can’t have today. You always take days that are meant to be mine, and you ruin them, and I won’t let you do it on my wedding.”

“I don’t ruin-”

“Yes you do. You did at both graduations, at my birthdays since I left home and every time I’ve visited, too.” Carlisle did have the sense to look ashamed, but Andy wasn’t moved much by it. In fact, it’s about four years too late.

“I don’t mean to ruin them,” he tried to defend, but Andy interrupted him.

“I don’t care what you try to do, dad,” she said. “Whatever it is that you’re trying to accomplish is never what happens. But I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she says, moving past him.

“Andy,” her dad says, and something in her makes her turn to look at him. “I’ll, um, I’ll work on it, kid.” She nods and keeps walking, catching up to her wife as they’re seated.

“Everything okay?” Miranda leans over to ask as they sit.

“Absolutely,” she says, grinning and heaping a portion of potato salad onto Miranda’s plate. Miranda rolls her eyes, but a moment later begins eating the salad.

Andy had sat back after she finished her food, leaning her arm over the back of Miranda’s as she picked through her salad, eating methodically (a salad with “real vegetables, Andréa, and potatoes don’t count”). Andy decided it was the best wedding ever, even with the unfortunate interruptions of the now far away morning. She was so eager that Miranda had barely finished eating when Andy dragged her away to dance where others had begun swaying to the music.

“I’m in heels,” Miranda tried to argue, even as she fell into step with Andréa.

“I’ve seen you go up three flights of stairs in heels,” she countered.

“Well, I was prepared for that,” Miranda huffed, but Andy knew she was far from displeased.

“You’re my wife now,” she said with obvious glee.

“You are indeed, Mrs Priestly,” Miranda said with a smirk.

“How cheeky, Mrs Sachs.”

“Your mother is Mrs Sachs,” Miranda disputed.

“Well, that’s true,” Andy said, realising that they hadn’t really figured out their last name situation. She just assumed they’d keep them the same as they are, but now she wasn’t sure. “Should be double barrel them?”

“Please don’t make people refer to me as Priestly-Sachs,” Miranda asked jokingly, but Andy could tell it was a genuine request.

“Maybe we should keep them the same,” she suggested lightly. Miranda frowned.

“You would deny me the pleasure of calling you Mrs Priestly?” Miranda purred into her ear. Andy swallowed and looked around, well aware that they could not disappear unnoticed so early into the reception.

“I didn’t know it would be your pleasure,” she said slowly.

“Well, it would.”

“I guess I’m Andrea Priestly then,” she said, smiling at Miranda and swooping down for a kiss.

“My wife,” Miranda sighed, swaying in Andy’s arms with a contented expression.

“Your wife,” Andy echoed, closing her eyes and listening to the music.

.oOo.

“Andy?” Caroline called over hesitantly. Andy opened her eyes and smiled at her baby sister, holding her arm out to invite her into the embrace she and Miranda were still in. She snuggled in immediately and looked up at both of them. “We want cake,” she said simply. Miranda laughed and pulled away from Andy, giving her full attention to the young girl.

“Then cake you shall have,” she declared. “Come along, Andréa, there’s cake to be had.”

Andy followed along and watched as everyone gathered to watch Andy and Miranda cut their wedding cake, then sing happy birthday to the twins, who were glowing with joy and blew out all their candles with relish. Miranda was awarded a huge piece because carrot cake was her favourite (which Andy knew already). Miranda cut them both unreasonably large pieces of hers and Andy’s wedding cake in return. Adelaide looked a little green at the amount of cake her daughters would be eating, but to the quiet surprise of them all, Carlisle rested his hand on her shoulder and told her let them have their moment.

“I’ll be on bedtime duty tonight,” he said, handing his wife a glass of wine and nodding at Andy. She nodded back and ate her cake.

“I’m so full,” Miranda said as she leaned back into Andréa, patting her stomach lightly.

“You ate your body weight in cake,” Andy remarked, laughing as she finished her own piece. Miranda only hummed and shut her eyes, basking in the afternoon atmosphere.

“What time should we fly back tomorrow?” Miranda asked her suddenly. Andy thought for a moment.

“Probably before nine so we can go to our interview.”

“How long do you think that will take?”

“In the packet I read it said no more than two hours. Why?”

“It’s a secret,” Miranda replied simply. Then, “Let’s dance again,” to which Andy complied, even if she was full of chocolate cake.

“Where do you want to honeymoon?” Miranda asked outright.

“Somewhere cold,” she said. Miranda gave her a look. “What?”

“Cold? Not summery or tropical?”

“I hate being too hot and cold weather means we can stay inside,” she said with exaggerated eyebrow movement. Miranda scoffed a laugh and got another thoughtful expression on her face.

“Alright,” she said after a beat, “somewhere cold. We need to pack tonight.”

“Yes, Miranda,” she said with unreserved fondness. Miranda simply kissed her.

.oOo.

Miranda had never had any experience with having to say goodbye to a child (or in this case, children) who didn’t want her to leave. She had no idea how to bolster herself against the sadness in blue eyes or the pouts, _goodness_ the _pouts_! She was truly considering asking Adelaide to let them come to live with her and Andréa in New York when her wife entered the kitchen and snapped Miranda out of her thoughts.

“Caroline, Cassidy, come here,” Andréa said gently. They obliged her, wrapping their lanky arms around her waist and pouting up at her. Miranda’s heart ached to see it, and that well-known well of guilt bubbled forth, knowing that Miranda was the reason that Andréa didn’t see her sisters often enough. “We’re not going away forever,” she heard Andréa say to them. The twins remained silent, but it was obvious they doubted their older sister.

“Why don’t we do Christmas in New York,” she heard herself suggest. The twins perked up immediately and looked to Andy in askance.

“If you can convince Momma and Dad to make the trip, then I don’t have anything against the idea.” A blur and the children were off running to find their mother.

“How does anyone say no to them?”

“Practice,” Andy said, sipping some coffee then sitting beside Miranda. It was not the answer Miranda was hoping for.

“Well, you can be the one to say no to them. I refuse,” Miranda quipped, sipping her own coffee which was cooler than she’d prefer.

“What if you can’t reach me? Or what if I go mute or took a vow of silence?”

“Then figure something out,” Miranda said, which made Andy laugh. Adelaide came in with sullen twins behind her and informing Miranda and Andy that they needed to leave in ten minutes. Both women nodded and finished their coffee, Andy putting them in the dishwasher, and moving to the bedroom to do a last check that they had everything.

“Do you think she said no?”

“No, I think she said that she’d talk to dad and us more before agreeing. They’re easily disappointed sometimes.”

“Good,” Miranda said relievedly. “I hope she agrees,” she added as they left the clean bedroom.

“She can’t say no to me,” Andy said with a cheeky grin. “Dad was always the one who had to say it, because Momma would just let me have things.”

“It’s a surprise you’re not more of a brat,” Miranda teased.

“For us both.”

The ride to the airport was quiet, only the radio playing softly in the background to break the silence. Miranda was in the back, in the middle between two twins who were still sulking, and Andy was in the passenger seat keeping an eye on her mother who was always sad to see her off. Carlisle had opted not to come, both because the bigger car was difficult to drive in a place like an airport and because he didn’t want to intrude, knowing that Miranda and Andy did not like him much at that moment. Andy was glad, to be honest. She hoped her dad would wake up to himself and let go of his expectations of Andy, but they’d have to wait and see.

.oOo.

“What’s your wife’s middle name?”

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Her maiden name?”

“Is this a trick question? Her maiden name is her married name.”

“Which is?”

“Priestly.”

“What was your wife’s childhood pet?”

“She didn’t have one but there was a tom cat that took a liking to her when she was little.”

“Does she play any instruments?”

“She says she can play the cello, but it’s a lie.”

.oOo.

“What did your wife study in college?”

“English with a minor in journalism.”

“What’s her star sign?”

“Cancer.”

“Is your wife allergic to anything?”

“Only folding laundry and only in a metaphorical sense. Otherwise, no.”

“What’s her favourite movie?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Tell me or you’ll be deported.”

“Fine. It’s _Finding Nemo_.

“I see.”

“I did try to warn you.”

.oOo.

“Congratulations,” Mr Walter said with a face like he had just stepped in dog shit. “You’re a citizen of America.”

“Thank you _ever_ so much, Carl, dear. Do take care,” Miranda said, breezing out of his office with Andréa behind, carrying her paperwork. “We have to hurry,” she said to her wife as she caught up. “We need to drop these off at the town house then head back to the airport.”

“How? We haven’t packed anything,” Andy reminded. Miranda gave her a look then patted her shoulder. Andy was vaguely patronised beyond her amusement.

“Darling, I _do_ have another assistant, you know? Our bags are packed, and the flight is booked, we just need to give these to whatever-her-name-is to send them to my lawyer and then we’ll be off.”

Andy, for once, let Miranda organise everything they did, which was a nice change of pace. She was surprised that Miranda had found the time to do it when she wasn’t around, but didn’t think much about it after Miranda kissed her in the back of the town car they had. They hadn’t done much else than make out like teenagers the night before, saving their first time together for when they didn’t have to be up early or have to share a house with family and friends. The anticipation was half the foreplay, Andy thought, dazed. The driver was blushing as they got out, but he didn’t say anything, thank god. Andy would’ve died of embarrassment.

They were on another plane within the hour, and by a stroke of luck, Andy still hadn’t figured out where they were going. The plane was a _Runway_ jet that Miranda had hijacked and was transporting the bulk of the set-up equipment for a shoot in Europe somewhere. Andy thought it might be Italy, but she didn’t think it would be very cold there this time of year. They made a short stopover and were again in the air, en route to their honeymoon location.

“I’m excited,” Andy said for the third time since they had taken off again. Miranda smiled at her.

“I know, Darling. I am, too.”

They had the same short conversation twenty minutes later, and again, Miranda smiled.

“Switzerland!”

Miranda laughed when Andy finally caught on in the airport. She was surprised when her wife had missed the huge Swiss flag upon their arrival, but she had been doing her best to distract her, she supposed. Kissing Andréa was much more fun now that she felt allowed to do so, and her wife seemed to enjoy kissing her very much if the dazed expression each time was any indication.

They were driven to a small cabin which had been prepared for them (Miranda’s reach went far beyond New York, but Andy hadn’t realised just how far until then). They were farewelled by their driver, who assured them he was only a call away, then went into the cool cabin to look around and settle in.

Andréa was marvelling at the snow outside when Miranda walked into the bedroom. She walked in behind her wife and wrapped her arms around her. She was taken by a sense of extreme gratitude that Andréa had led them to where they were. Miranda had forgotten, and truthfully hadn’t cared to find out, what it was like to be loved, to be part of a unit with another person to think about. She had missed that feeling, but found that she was experiencing it only for the first time in her life with her new wife.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the spot between Andréa’s shoulder blades.

“What for? You did all this.”

“Thank you for agreeing to be my fake wife, then becoming my real one,” she said, feeling ridiculous as she did. Andréa laughed and turned around, pulling her as close as they could get. The sun was setting behind Andréa, making the snow shine a golden orange, lending her a silhouette that was hauntingly beautiful.

“Any time,” Andréa joked. “No one else is allowed to fake marry you, though, okay? Just me.”

“I wouldn’t want to fake marry anyone else,” she returned, keeping up the joke. She received Andréa’s kiss with pleasure, letting her wife guide them through it. It might have escalated into making love if Andréa hadn’t yawned quite suddenly. Suddenly enough to surprise herself and make Miranda laugh at her shock. “Let’s change for bed,” she said, pulling back from Andréa only a little.

“No,” her wife whined.

“Tomorrow we can spend the day in bed if you like, but we are both tired,” she reasoned. Andréa nodded reluctantly, and both moved to get into pyjamas, then snuggled into bed. Andréa was still pouting slightly when Miranda rolled over, pulling her close.

“Don’t be disappointed, Darling,” Miranda said. Andréa sighed and relaxed onto her shoulder, throwing an arm over Miranda’s waist.

“I’m not, really. I just didn’t want to be tired.”

“I understand,” Miranda said, kissing a brunette hairline.

“Besides,” Andréa yawned again, snuggling sweetly into Miranda. “We have all the time in the world.”

“We do,” she said. _I hope we do_, she didn’t say, because they _would_. She would make sure of it, she resolved as she settled to sleep.

They would have all the time in the world.

END


End file.
